Scattered.

Ooof. What a weird week. Moving, confused feelings, jealousy, weird date, fun party, babysitting. Seriously… I feel like I have been all over the emotional map this week.

Let’s start with the moving. It’s done. I’m spending tomorrow rearranging things, unpacking, organizing. I hope to be totally in and settled by Wednesday. The blisters on my feet are healing, but still really hurt. However… on Thursday (or maybe it was Wednesday night?) the Giant said something to me that… I just wasn’t expecting it.

“Truth time: there were several times I wanted to kiss you when I was helping you move.”

Now… I was resolved. We were friends. We were discussing our dating lives with each other. It was fine. And really, let’s not forget that I was the one that bailed on things because he didn’t want a relationship right now. Also, he lives far away… And we live on different social planets. I know all of this in my head, but when he said that to me, I turned into this stupid little girl with saucers for eyes, “REALLY?”

Fuck me. So then I spend the day on Thursday, bouncing around the idea in my head… Re-entertaining the notion of maybe, possibly, sort of giving it a go with him and wondering if he liked me now… or liked me enough now… Or whatever.

Fucking stupid. He was MAD flirty with me all day and, for a minute there, it felt the way things felt when we were first seeing each other — that first week after we made out and were all giddy and high on each other’s energy.

So then, on Friday, after a full day of swirling thoughts, I log onto Facebook and — of course, I feel like a stupid teenage girl for this, but I’m'a keep it real — I recognize a girl posting on his wall as one that he had, a week previous, sent me pictures of with the comment, “I can’t tell if she’s cute or ugly.” Some of her pictures were incredibly adorable… And some… She was really unattractive. It didn’t look like the same girl. We discussed it when he started emailing her on okcupid and it was fine… I was two-feet-firmly in the friend role and felt great about it.

But Friday was different. Because he had said that he wanted to kiss me… And my heart was circling my brain, all logic going out the window. And SHE is posting on his wall and I can feel the fucking jealousy start to boil inside me. What the fuck, Jami? This man isn’t your boyfriend. YOU are the one that called it quits with him. YOU are the one that understands his need to spread his wings and take flight… What are YOU getting jealous of?? But I was jealous. I just was. And her wall is wide open, so when he posts on her wall, I would click and be nosy and watching the two of them flirt, I was just like, “Ugh. But… She’s… She’s not even CUTE!” I know, petty. I KNOW!

Immature? Sure. I’m in touch with it. Unreasonable? Probably. But I own those feelings, they are what they are. I know I shouldn’t be feeling jealous that a man that is incapable of giving me what I personally need is giving some other girl some attention. I know it. I’m just… not happy about it.

So Friday night, I had a date with a guy from OkCupid. He was a really fun and interesting guy with an interesting history. His dad is gay, grew up in the country in Texas, is a total city boy now… On paper, I was a little excited about our date. We were flirty, to a point, in our emails and he was doing a good job of pursuing me.

And then, I walk into the Bookhouse Pup and there he is. This is the first time I’ve ever met someone from OkCupid and he didn’t look like his pictures. Like, at all. In his pictures, he was a bigger guy — broad-shouldered with large hands — with glasses and a semi-clean-cut/semi-hipster style. The guy in the bar last night was easily 60-70 pounds heavier than the pictures and not just big-guy-style big… Like a large, tight, uncomfortable belly — like a pregnant woman. He had mutton chops that came nearly to his mouth, a Pompadour complete with pomade and shit, a wallet chain that came down to his knees…. Just like, all of the things that I don’t like in men seemingly wrapped up in a pair of Dickies, a black shirt, and chucks.

*sigh*

But he was nice. And interesting and funny and laughed at my jokes and asked me questions. At one point, while sitting on the back patio in a bar stool, my flipflop came off my foot. He got up, picked it up and gingerly put it back on my foot. I’ll admit, this kind of behavior makes my heart and cunt flutter…

But he followed it up with this statement:

“I like my women like I like my peanut butter jars. Short and thick.”

With… hand motions. *groan*

…. THE FUCK? Did that just happen? I mean, I laughed… nervously… Because yes, I am short and thick… And YES, it’s clear you’re into me Greased Lightening. I’m pretty sure all the tit/cleavage staring that you were unable to control or at least maneuver covertly made that clear. But holding your hands up like you’re gripping into a jar of peanut butter… sexually? It was the statement that made my vagina clank. Loudly. (I kept thinking about Peanutbutter Farts — have you SEEN that? So gross.)

I learned over dinner that he was VERY new to online dating and that he hadn’t done much dating at all in the last four or five years. Doye.

But he really was nice, you know? Such a shame. I was so totally not attracted to him.

He asked me what I was doing later that night, after he paid the tab for dinner (and I thanked him, graciously). I told him I was going to a party over in Midtown for a friend’s birthday. He asked a lot of questions about it… Sort of like, “CanICome?CanICome?CanICome?” So I asked him if he’d like to come with me. He eagerly said yes and we were on our way.

The party was great. It’s so good to see my friends. I really don’t hang out with my friends as much as I’d like to… But super fun. Great food, great drinks, lots of laughing. And my date was  a trooper. I mean, thrown into a mix of preppy, midtowners that he didn’t know, he circled the room, chatted people up, introduced himself.

The Giant was texting me a little throughout the evening, asking about the date, laughing when I told him how he was dressed, etc. I finally was just like, “Ugh. Stop…texting… HIM!” And put my phone away. I’m at a motherfucking party and I’m carrying my phone around waiting for him to text me back… While I’m on a date. Who’s the douche? (Spoiler alert: me).

When he walked me to my car, I was just praying, “Please don’t try to kiss me… Please don’t try to kiss me… Please don’t try to kiss me…” And he did, but only on my cheek — like deliberately on my cheek. And asked me to call him sometime.

So I get in the car, ready to schlep it home to the ‘burbs… To my new far-away-from-all-the-action-but-with-free-rent-home. And who texts me?

The Giant.

“So??! How’d everything go?”

Uhm, I forget… Are you my friend or did you want to kiss me? I don’t understand why you are so invested in how my dating life is going, man? What the fuck? I relayed some of the details over IM when I got home and then I was just like…. “Fuck this tip-toeing shit,” and I leveled with him.

I don’t remember the exact conversation, but he kept apologizing for talking to me about this other girl… And it took me a little bit to figure out how to diplomatically verbalize it. I wasn’t jealous of the half-cute/half-ugly girl until he said he wanted to kiss me. I was just like, “Dude. You said you wanted to kiss me. Either you’re in or you’re out. You know that I like you and that I called it quits with you because you didn’t want a relationship. Be fair to me. Don’t fucking say that shit.”

And he said, “It’s harder when I actually see you.”

I remember tilting my head, my eyes split into little slivers under my furrowed brow, “What does that tell you then, man?”

Because, in my mind — which, I know I’m a woman and I think with my actual brain, when you see someone and you start to feel electrical impulses in your synapses that tell your brain, “I want to kiss her,” to me… That means you like her. That you should date her… pursue her… And figure out how all of THAT is going to work out.

But apparently, for a man, it’s a different process. He said, “I think it’s because I’ve had sex with you.”

AWESOME. Objectification, complete.

Fuck all the shit that was swirling around in my head about how he FEELS about me… Feelings have nothing to do with it, I guess unless you count FEELING a boner when you think about me?

I’m pissed. And probably being unreasonable. Rejection isn’t a fun game to play… particularly when the bandaid gets ripped off and you’re forced to relive it again. But to feel exclusively like a sexual object to a person? That’s not a fucking game I am going to participate in at all.

Remember in the middle of August when I was all, “If I try to date any more this year, I want you all to kick me in the cunt?”

C’mere. I need some real-deal, steel-toe action man. I am so pissed at myself for YET AGAIN letting my walls comes down for a dude, thinking he was actually into me — to SOME degree — only to find out that, nah… Not really. Fuck dating. Fuck fucking. Fuck all of that shit. It is not worth the turning-myself-inside-out complications that come with it. It’s just not.

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