the sugar-coated bitch

So, last week, I went out in high maintenance mode and…I failed.

As in hashtag-worthy #failed.

The outfit was appropriately high maintenance, including open toed shoes (completely defying – ignoring – the falling temperatures). The outfit had the right amount of bling to sparkle in the dark.

The invite was to a “loft party near Liberty Village”. Silly me. It wasn’t.

I thought my challenge that night would be to outshine the posse of women who could outshine me on laundry day. They’re not Sugar Coated in the least, but beautiful and dynamic; on a normal day I would be classified as the “sidekick” to these ladies. In on the plan, they knew my regular snarky persona had disappeared under layers of Mac and ennui. I can switch it on pretty easily now; it’s a little disturbing, I have to say. We got our drinks, kicked off the evening with a toast to sugar coated bitches everywhere and surveyed the room.

Erm…

Not a single guy to be seen. What’s the opposite of a sausage fest? Because that’s where I was. Thankfully, it was just a matter of us being there early, so as the night progressed, the ratio of men to women increased. With the odds now in my favour, I decided to circle the room and look for new recruits. Since I can’t go anywhere alone, I grabbed a couple of my girls and made my way back to the bar…

Cut in front of people and walked up to the front as if it was the most normal thing to do (remember, this was an open bar and therefore the most crowded spot in the whole place). As I stood there, a guy who had been waiting ahead of me smiled. I nodded back. When it came time to take our orders, he told the bartender to take care of me first. I ordered for all my girls. Which meant a few drinks. Poor guy looked at me and said “y’know, I’ve been waiting for a while…”

I smiled. I shrugged. I said thank you and walked away.

Getting bored, I reverted to my snarky self, tweeting random observations and jokes. When it came time to head outside for us to smoke (and by us, I mean some of them, but I can’t sit there by myself!) we passed…him.

Tall, bronze and toned, he looked down smiled and reached for my hand.

“Hi Mami”

Go ahead and collectively roll your eyes at me; but I have a weakness for the word “mami”.

Staying in character, I smiled back and pointed to my girls, who were waiting with arched brows.

But he called me Mami…so I assured him that I would return. He was sitting by our “booth” after all. Heading upstairs, I broke character and announced, “this is not the alcohol talking…even with the durag, I’d hit it.”

Returning to the party, I kept an eye on my Mark (which wasn’t hard since he was about 6’5…). He made eye contact, circled,  and…nada. Of course, the mark of a hot boy who knows he’s hot. He eye fucked so many women in the room, I’m surprised that his retinas don’t need Valtrex eye drops.

I make my way back to the smoking area (aka the rooftop) and proceed to look bored for real. My feet are beginning to hurt, I’m tired, and I’m definitely drunk. Cutting myself off, I survey the area to see if there are any other potential Marks.

Nada.

My only small victory happened as we left in the early hours of Sunday morning, when he reached out for me and tried his best to get my number – all while another girl was grinding up on him.  She wasn’t impressed with that and well, there are so many other men who can call me Mami…NEXT!

But last night, I (and by “I”, I mean my ego) wanted redemption…some sort of reminder that the effort is sometimes worth it. Chilling at dinner with a friend, I had gone out in high maintenance mode. Instead of searching for new Marks, I went through the list and reached out to that one. Yup. I admit it. I want to win this battle of wits.  I want to break the bro code and have this guy do what I want. As dinner comes to a close, I text Mr. High Maintenance and declare myself “bored”.

He writes back instantly and asks if I’m going to a place I’m known to be at regularly. It turns out this is where I was having dinner, so I respond that I’m already there.

“I’m parked outside”

Fack. I didn’t expect that.

Now here’s the thing: He hates this spot. He had a party there a few years ago and felt screwed over. He has said that he would never set foot in this spot again and never spend another cent there…

Because we’re sitting in the window, I debated ducking under the table or making a run for the exit via the kitchen. I tell my companion that I’ve texted dude too early and now he’s right outside. My companion shakes his head and gives me a look that says, “you’re on your own, but I can’t wait to see this…” Because he works at this spot, he’s about to be witness to the sugar coated me…

“Come outside” reads the text. Pffft. His bias is that bad he won’t even set foot in the place?

Challenge. Accepted. 

I can’t just yet. Come in ;)

Challenge. Won.

He came in and tried to get me to leave with him. Using the excuse of work (I was technically alone), I declined. Remember the time he stood me up? Yeah, me too. Looking up at him with the most coy expression, I arched my brow and said, “You owe me a drink…”

He guides me to the bar and says he’s a simple man (pfft) and likes simple drinks. He then asks what I would want (good move) and I tell him to surprise me. He orders two cocktails (a good one, even the bartender is impressed) and a beer for my working friend (well of course he better be buying drinks for my friends!). We chat over the drinks and he proceeds to run his game on me. Tells me a different background story the first one (eye roll) and tries to find out more about me (“it’s will take too long to explain…”). Talk turns to wardrobe choices and he says that he was born in the wrong era; he likes women to dress like women and men to dress like men.

Me? I’m in high maintenance mode, and wearing a dress. 

“Am I dressed like a woman?”

Surveying me with a slow smile (which felt really uncomfortable),  he confirms that I am and promises that this is the week he’s taking me out to make up for his mistake. We chat some more, and the entire time I’m thinking he’s ditched his people to come see me in a place he hates. Kissing both cheeks, he leaves and I spend the next 10 minutes smirking about my win.

It’s a small victory but an important one for me.

Holy fuck.

I got stood up.

Sugar coated or coated in vinegar, it doesn’t matter. Being stood up inspires this type of reaction from me.

Mark #3, Mr. Bro Code has been texting me. As he was on his way out of town (again), he asked me out. I suggested dates and he said that he couldn’t.

I eased up a bit because he was out of town, he suggested a day. I waited 2 hours and then told him that the date would work. 

He didn’t call the day before to confirm. So I checked with the guru and asked what my next move should be.

“You do nothing. If he fucks up, he fucks up.”

He didn’t confirm. He didn’t call the day of, or the day after, or the day after…

At this point, he better have been detained at customs.

I vented all week to my girlfriends (the ones in on this scheme). I’m not impressed. Neither are they.

Saturday night… I’m in bed early (damn flu).

Guess who reaches out just before midnight…

“Hey. U at ______?” (a place I told him previously I could be found at most Saturdays for work, which is true) 

“No. Not tonight.”

The indignation that is my normal state of being rears its head:

“BTW didn’t we have plans this past Tuesday?”

“We did??”

“Yeah. Drinks wasn’t it?”

“My bad…I’m hitting (insert trendy spot on King West here), come by?”

(I didn’t establish that I was sick)

“Can’t. Already out with people. So…you forgot me.”

He was out of town the entire week.

Fucking fuck fuck fucking fuck.

Really?

So, I ask you this: why does he keep reaching out to me??

So effing frustrated. The stalemate has gotten stale. 

NEXT!

I have not abandoned this…

I DID, as mentioned previously, abandon online dating (aka lying)…

Last time I wrote, I was in the middle of a waiting game with a guy who is as equally high maintenance as I’m pretending to be. We’re still in bit of a holding pattern, but it looks like I STILL have him on the hook…

More on that in a bit…

I had a date. I had a date that was supposed to be sugar coated, but the script got flipped. Right around the time I met the Mark in the last post, I met a guy. One I wouldn’t really consider for the real me for a host of reasons. But he managed to charm me, so I thought, “sugarcoat him”…

He asked me out, I accepted and then…

I set the terms. I chose the day, the venues and the time; but told him to make it happen (my guru was very proud of me). Outfit? Wore open toed shoes (seriously) on a cold and slightly snowy day. He picked me up at my place even though the restaurant is at the midway point between my place and his(my guru was VERY proud of me for this). During dinner, the conversation turned to things women like and don’t like and, because the date was before Valentine’s Day, that topic came up.

Him: “I hate Valentine’s Day. It’s so fake…”

Sugar Coated Me: Really….? (arches brow for effect).

I have to point out that it was the Sugar Coated me who did this, because the real me HATES Valentine’s Day. Love the candies…hate what it represents. I want to adored and cherished and shown that in little ways every day of the week; NOT because it’s one bloody day on a calendar. I want flowers because it’s Friday, not because it’s February 14th. Turns out that was his logic as well. In fact, he said that for previous girlfriends, he would randomly surprise them with roses. Parted me wanted to give him points for this philosophy, but I couldn’t.

However…

Ick. Roses? Uh-uh. Sugar coated or covered in thorns, I’m not a fan of roses. I pointed out that roses were the “safe” choice of many, but not very imaginative. Oh, and baby’s breath? Don’t even get me started…

I went through the list of “acceptable “ flowers (all expensive) and my thoughts of bouquet giving. Halfway through, he said, “dang, you’ve got me second guessing what I did…”

(heh)

The cheque came and I instinctively reached for my purse…

(fuck)

…and pulled out my lip gloss.

(recovery!)

As we left the restaurant, I finished my argument. He responded with a wry smile and said:

“You must really like being catered to, don’t you?”

(busted)

I couldn’t. I just could not continue with the façade. So by the time we arrived at destination number two (a movie), I reverted to the real me. I even offered to buy my own popcorn (he doesn’t like popcorn); but he insisted. Once I dropped the façade, I realized that he’s actually a cool person and we’ve continued to hang out. Some traces of the sugar coating remain (still haven’t reached for my wallet, and that’s been very hard), but the dynamic is definitely different. Now that he’s a part of my real life, that’s all I’ll be saying about him.

On to the Mark…

Coincidentally, I thought it was all over between us. In my last post, the ball was in his court and he dropped it. My guru said “move on” and I did.

However, on the night of the first date with the aforementioned dude, the Mark texted just as I was literally on my way out the door! I swear, men have radar on this shit! The texts were about not getting to see my beautiful face, asking when will we link up, blah blah blah…

I responded with, “I thought you had forgotten all about me (pouty face)”

(as I re-read the text for this post I literally just snorted. “Pouty face”? Oi…)

He was out of town.  The texting small talk continued, which I ignored (I was at dinner) and questions about my plans for the weekend. The chatter fizzled off until…

I downloaded an app that allowed iPhone and Blackberry users to interact via IM. Guess who found me this weekend?

I thought at first it was an automatic add, but then he started writing. I ignored them until today and then responded. Blah blah blah…he finally gets to see my pretty face (I have an avatar) and that he really really wants to see me as soon as he’s back in town. All this while he was boarding out of town.

So, we’ve made plans… for next week. I’ll admit, I’m feeling kind of disingenuous about making plans with this guy, but I’m far from married and not in a committed relationship with the real life dude; we just see a lot of each other.

But you know what DOES suck? The more this Mark reveals about himself, the more interesting he seems…but there’s no converting him.

(fack)

*throws everything up in the air and starts to juggle*

Hmmm.

So, just as I hit “publish” on my last post, I got a text from the Mark in question.

“Okay. I’ll let you know tomorrow”

I responded with the presumptive close (key in any negotiation)

“Perfect J let’s say 9.”

No question mark. No “I’ll wait to see what you say…” Nope.  Just, 9 o’clock.

That was Tuesday. I haven’t heard from him since.

Hmmm.

Yesterday I decided to confer with my Guru and a guy who loves high maintenance women. First, let me point out that if this were real life and not this experiment, I wouldn’t be conferring with anyone about something as trivial as a first date. But I’m in unchartered waters and I’m not a very good swimmer.

I tell the Guru that I haven ‘t heard from him as yet. She responds with,

“Leave it. Not worth anymore work on your part.”

 “Was he hot or not worth it?”

Me: “He was hot”

Her: “He’ll be higher maintenance than you, so leave it.”

High maintenance men? Okay, now that’s just annoying…

So, while discussing other things with a trusted male friend, I mention the situation. I tell him that it felt weird issuing an ultimatum of sorts (Friday or nothing) and I feel like I’m playing cat and mouse, which I hate. He figures, if the guy is cute and I like him (well, I don’t know about that yet), why wouldn’t I just be myself?

Him: “Did you act high maintenance when you met him?”

Me: “I acted a little high maintenance. It was a really quick meeting. Now I don’t know how to turn things in my favour. I’m not good with games. Sigh”

His advice was to be myself. It will be in my favour.

Pffft.

But he also provided this insight (he’s a bit high maintenance himself):

“He can’t call ‘till later tonight or tomorrow. Hang tight. If he’s really pushing bro code tactics, he might not call until the weekend. He doesn’t want to seem desperate, especially to a girl who seemed high maintenance”.

I read that text and thought: DAMMIT! THERE’S A BRO CODE THAT APPLIES TO THIS!?!

I did not account for Bro Code type tactics in this experiment.

But of course it is possible! We’re in the middle of a negotiation! It’s important that a precedent be set from the get go. Whether it’s mine or his, only one of us can win this game.

See why I hate games? Granted, I do play to win.

Fucking Bro Code! High maintenance only really works if one party feels like they have something to lose. If he with is cute ass, and me with my high maintenance one both feel that there are many more opportunities waiting for us, why would I wait for him or he wait for me?

That being said. He’s got 7 hours before the window closes…

I wonder who’ll break first? 

When it comes to business, I have no problems negotiating. The key is to know your worth. You’ll hear me say that time and time again to people… Know. Your. Worth.

In matters of the heart, I’ve been fairly noncommittal. Sure, I’ve invested in relationships, have been in love, blah blah blah. Having experienced the “losing oneself in a relationship” very early on, my views on how I value myself in a relationship are uncompromising. 

I have not yet been able to place a relationship above myself; I can easily walk away from just about anything. In my world, a man can quickly go from “lover” to “motherfucker” with one wrong move.

I’ve love(d) you. But I love me more. (word to Samantha Jones).

Granted. This has also made me quite accommodating and liberal in my approach to dating. I’m have always been about being fair. Being 50/50. Viewing relationships as a partnership.

I am the girl who pulls out her wallet on the first date. I’m the girl who will “meet” you at the designated spot instead of being picked up. I’m all for giving space (I crave it myself) and have been told on a number of occasions by lovers that one of the coolest things about me is that I don’t “push”. Part of being HLBB is that I have heard the downside to some of the behaviours exhibited by other women and have avoided those apparent pitfalls…

But I’m single. Go figure. Which is what drives this experiment. On paper, I’m doing everything “right”. So are many of my friends. Yet. We’re single. High Maintenance women however, not only love themselves more than the relationship, but expect you to love them more than they will love you. 

As I negotiate dates with 2 different Marks, I have found myself running to my guru for advice. For example:

Met the Mark on the weekend. He hit on me (of course) and then asked for my number. I declined and took his. When he had asked my name, I gave my nickname rather than the full one. He then asked how will he know it’s me when I call/text. I said “when you get the message, you’ll remember the name won’t you…? (arch brow, say in a superior tone)”.

That worked.

Now, he’s suggested that we go for a drink. This is where the real me/sugar coated me starts to duke it out for supremacy…

Him: “Let’s try to get together for a drink this week sometime”

My first instinct was to reply, “sure, what day were you thinking?”

“STOP!” Screamed the voice inside my head (which sounds a lot like my guru). “YOU HAVE TO TELL HIM WHEN YOU’RE AVAILABLE!”

Me: “Friday works for me”

There. I’ve set ground rule number one.

Him: Friday might work.

Dammit to fuck! “Might”? What is this “might” business? Normally, I would’ve replied “what day works for you?” But, I know that this can’t be the response. No way. It’s gotta be that I’m available Friday and that’s it.

(Okay, really I am free on Thursday and Saturday night, but the Sugar Coated me is leaving that open to other possibilities.)

Normally, I would counter with an alternate date and work something out, so I have no clue as to how to respond. Emergency text to the guru:

Me: Help! He’s suggesting a drink. I countered with “Friday would work”. He writes back “Friday might work for me”. So how do I respond in the most high maintenance way possible that he HAS to take me out on Friday? LOL

Guru: U reply ‘it either does or it doesn’t, there’s no might. I have a few things on the go.”

I read, copy that text verbatim. Paste. Pause. I don’t hit send.

Sigh. One of the justifications High Maintenance women have for their behaviour is that they are stunning. My guru? Stunning. Me? Meh. Yeah yeah yeah…go ahead with the self esteem business, but really it’s not that I think I’m ugly. I’m just not Halle Berry and I know this. But I end up starting to second guess myself. What am I bringing to this negotiation? Why would he (or anyone) turn his schedule upside down to take me out on Friday?

Know your worth. I’ll have to reevaluate my worth in order to make this work. This guy has to know he’s dealing with a certain kind of woman! My time is valuable! He either wants to see me or he doesn’t!

I go to lunch.

I respond to the text (nearly two hours later), making a slight revision:

“It’s the only day that works for me. I have a few things on the go.”

(this is not a lie)

Yes. That’s it. You get that day.  It’s my day. I’m giving it to you… (this is what I’m thinking as I type and hit send.)

Hours go by. No response.

Dammit. This guy is cute and is actually appealing to the real side of me…

Fuck it. I’m worth it.

Aren’t I?

*update: literally as I hit “Create” on this post I got a response… I’ll keep you posted. ;)

To know me in real life is to know I hate lies. I’d rather be honest and have people dislike me for it, than to lie and have people think I’m some wonderful person. As they say, it’s much easier to keep track of the truth.

 In the last update I gave you, I told you all how I lied in order to fool the eHarmony algorithm. My girl had encouraged me to try eHarmony and pointed out that for one month’s membership, I could get at least 4 dates and recoup my costs…

That fucking system has matched me with more men that look like serial killers than an entire season’s worth of Criminal Minds. Are looks high on my list? Yes, high enough. I’m not gonna lie. But for everyone, hotness is in the eyes of the beholder; what I find attractive may not be another person’s cup of tea.

These men look like serial killers. Eyes…dead. Facial expressions…painful smiles.

Location…most pictures look like they were taken on shoddy webcams in a basement (victims hanging from the wall were tastefully cropped out of course).

I don’t know how people complain that when they date online, the person usually doesn’t look like their photo (meaning: worse than). Because if these are their BEST photos, what the FUCK do they look like in person? Do they have skin falling off their faces? No teeth? Are they 90?

eHarmony proudly lists that they have sent me 120 matches; I only consider 2 a match (and I’m judging based on profiles and pictures). When reviewing (whining) to the girl who encouraged me to do this, she said, “you’re being too picky!”

Then, she reviewed the matches. She then said, “what the fuck is wrong with people? Where do they come from?” She even said she was sorry for sending me down this dark and scary road. The only bright side to all this is that there was one guy I thought was a match for a friend and I have since introduced them via Facebook. The darkside? Well…

I’ve been sent a disproportionate number of Information Technology types. I love a geek as much as the next girl, but IT guys? I’ve had my fill. I cannot compete with Gears of War for a man’s attention. Nope. Sorry. One dude’s profile picture looked like it was taken at his call centre job. Really?

Do men of colour use online dating? Because this system has matched me with THREE Black men. THREE. I think maybe 5 Asians and 10 South Asians. ONE Latino. I do not have trouble dating outside the lines and have done so many times, but it has “snowed” more in my inbox than it has in the city…

But today? Oh today was the kicker.

The system matched me with a midget, a guy named TT, and a guy with a name that could be mispronounced as “anal”.

Literally.

I know people are going to get on my ass about the midget thing, but I checked. Based on the height listed, he technically classifies as a midget. Yes, he deserves to find love and happiness, but it’s not with me. As for TT, you are a grown ass man and you’re content being referred to in this manner? Sure, you don’t want to list your government name (I listed a nickname), but TT? As for “anal” sounding guy…I’m not touching it.

When the system sends you a midget, an “anal”, and a guy named TT, that’s your cue to buy a new vibrator and close your account.

Oh. As for lying. I firmly believe that one way or the other your lie will bite you in the ass. Whether you lose out on something because of it, or you’re caught in it…you will get bitten in the ass.

The other day, the system sent me a really great guy. One that reads (instead of one that writes “I can’t remember the last book and don’t care about reading). One that doesn’t work in IT or “show biz” (yes, one guy listed that as his occupation…if I can stand the douchebaggery, I may turn him into a “Mark”). One that is thoughtful (based on the way he composed his answers). One that the real me would say, “oh, hello!” to.

But I can’t. Because it’s not the real me on there.

Okay, I did say hello…no response.

I get it: only lonely sociopaths thisclosetogoingonakillingspree find me attractive. Do I plug my nose and have a go at them for the sake of this experiment? No. I can’t. The fake me wouldn’t stoop so low to date at this level.

As for the real me?

Starts working on a Plan B, stat.

Sigh.

I know. There haven’t been many updates. I’ve actually been paying attention to my real life more than this alternative reality that I’ve set up.  As a result, the people that I meet are not viable candidates for this experiment. Ooops.  The last time I checked in, I realized that I had a conflict of personal interest. How do I search for the appropriate “Mark”, while leaving myself open to the possibility of meeting someone with boyfriend potential?

Urk.

Discussing this challenge with a friend, she offered to ask her sister’s boyfriend if he had any suitable friends (#facepalm) for me to meet as myself. To solve the “Mark” problem, she suggested eHarmony.

Let’s take a moment shall we?

I’m not a fan of online dating. In the times that I’ve attempted it, it has been bad. Real bad. Bad as in one guy who lists his profession as “king” and another guy who invited to join a threesome with him and his hot 29 year old girlfriend.

That kind of bad.

As for eHarmony, well…

eHarmony uses a profiling questionnaire to determine your core personality traits and belief. Then using a propriety algorithm, they match you to others in the database. Years ago, I tried to join eHarmony on a lark. I say ,“tried” because I was rejected after completing the questionnaire.

The system told me there were no matches.

I found that highly amusing (and insulting) and used the experience as a story to tell people over cocktails. About a year later, I shared the story again (that story has a lot of mileage) and was met with looks of disbelief. Ah, the power of advertising! Surely there is someone out there for everyone!

Pffft.

A day later, there was a banner ad for eHarmony taunting me on my computer screen. So, to prove that I was a) not a sociopath and b) that it WAS possible to be rejected, I completed the questionnaire again…

And failed.

About one in five people are not suitable for the service for reasons including that the user is currently married or has been married more than four times, is under the minimum age of 21, provides inconsistent answers in the profile, or fails its “dysthymia scale.” *Source: Wikipedia

Ahem, dysthymia is just a nice way of saying that you suffer from a mood disorder called “depression”.

Wow.

Well, I’m not married, and I’m not on the Kardashian wedding plan, so it’s not that. I’m well over the age of 21. While I fully admit to having bad days, I worked in a psych hospital…I’ll fully admit to being moody, but I do not have a mood disorder.

So…I was inconsistent?

Bah. If anything, I would say that I’m too consistent. Habitual even.  So what’s the deal?

After telling my friend how I was rejected – twice – she called bullshit. Without having proof, she challenged me to do the quiz again, in front of her. I did.

But I did do one thing differently.

I lied.

When it came to questions about my temperament, my beliefs regarding such important relationship markers as being able to compromise, being easy going, and communication, I did what most people do on dating sites (and what I didn’t do the first two times).

I lied.

Sure, I will work to resolve rather than win arguments or conflicts within our relationship. A partner who is bright and can share my understanding of the world as well as enjoy discussing important issues? Meh. Not a big priority for me. Someone who is gentle and kind? Of course that’s important!

Lie. Lie. Lie.

I passed the test.

Disappointed that I lied, my girl encouraged me to sign up for one month just to see “what would happen”. A one month subscription is 60 fucking bucks! That’s a trip to Mac! Books! Stuff for my puppy! Her logic? “That’s like… four lunches or two dinners or two drinks…”

Yes!! The HLBB side of me forgot. These dates will yield a return on my investment simply because as a Sugar Coated Bitch, I won’t be paying for myself on any of my dates!

I hit “subscribe”.

Turns out, the site also asks about what kind of leisure activities you enjoy, books you read, movies you’ll see.

Gah. Books?

I believe books are a window to the soul. The kinds of books you read give tremendous insight into the kind of person you are. I am a book lover. I actually gulped when the system asked me what kind of books I like.

I love biographies. My favourite authors are Baldwin and Atwood. To reveal that information would conflict with my Sugar Coated Persona.

So I listed “Pride and Prejudice”.

I’ve never read it.

Sigh.

p.s. I hate being photographed and there are very few photos of me out there. I uploaded my Twitter profile photo (@HL_BB) which I thought was cute and very “me”. 

I received this email five minutes later: 

Subject: eHarmony Photo Problem

We are sorry to inform you that your photo (Photo 1) was not accepted for placement on eHarmony.com. 

There are several possible reasons for this:

1. We can only accept photos in gif, .jpg, .png, or .bmp format. (it was a JPG)
2. We can only accept photos smaller than 5MB in size. (it was 48 kb)
3. We can only accept photos that are right side up. (right side up)
4. We can only accept photos that satisfy the rules specified on the photo page regarding attire. (it’s from the shoulders up…)

In addition, please note: Transmitting photos over the web can sometimes create errors in the data file, causing our database to fail in saving your photo.  

If you feel that your photo was rejected and reasons 1-4 above are NOT the cause, please either….

(my twitter photo has me giving the finger…yup. The real me still got rejected)

When I started this experiment I made it a rule that I would keep one foot in reality and maintain two separate lives. But, if I’m not warding off dirty old men, I’m playing “keep your hands to yourself” with men my age, or “hide and DON’T seek” with some of these Marks. Between work, life and other parts of my life, I’m a little tired. But I soldier on. But then…

I met a man.

I met a MAN man. Not a Mark, not some dude. But a man. It was a few weeks ago, but I’ve been trying to figure it out.

We met at a party I was working at, at the end of the night. Although we had friends in common, they didn’t introduce us; he just casually joined a conversation I was having with someone he already knew. Conversation turned into an invitation to join the group at another party and I hesitated. Even though I wasn’t in high maintenance mode (I was after all, working), I was still wearing heels and my feet hurt. After realizing that I had a pair of flats in my bag, I agreed to go to party number two.  Also, this man was intriguing. Okay…yes, he was hot. But not in a stop traffic kind of way, but the I can’t take my eyes off his face kind of way. Off we went.

Even though we went as a group, the group disappeared shortly after we arrived at the party, effectively leaving the two of us alone. Feeling responsible for me, he was the complete gentleman…except he wasn’t “trying”. You know when you get the sense that someone is trying to be a certain way? That wasn’t this.

I’m not one for public displays of affection or people in my personal space. But this guy? Being at a loud crowded party meant leaning in to talk to me; leaning in to talk to me meant his hand on the small of my back to pull me closer. Talking to me meant never averting his gaze to look at another female (I tracked this, which really shocked me). As for moving from one end of the room to the other? Well…

Him: “Do you want me to lead, since I’m taller?”(he smirks a little)

Without heels, I lost about 3 inches in height and could barely see above the crowd. Throughout the party I switched between the heels and flats, which lead to a running joke about my height.

 Me: “Sure… (sticks out tongue)”

He took about 3 steps, stopped and turned to look at me like there was something wrong. Looking down at my hand, he realized I hadn’t reached for his. Gesturing for me to give him my hand, he gave it a reassuring squeeze and proceeded to take the lead.

People, I open my own doors, put on my own coat and pull out my own chairs. I walk on the outside of the sidewalk and buy my own drinks. So all of this felt foreign. All of this felt…

Awesome.

I could bore you with the details…but I won’t…

But when the night (okay technically it was 5 a.m. but, whatever) ended with a reluctant kiss goodbye, I had a moment. Call it a “wow” moment or an “aha” moment…

I’m still calling it a “what the fuck just happened?” moment.

Which will never happen again because he doesn’t live here and was only here on vacation. For about 72 hours, I seriously contemplated booking a flight to where he lives. Seriously. That’s how strong this moment was.

He did do one very important thing for me that night (and no it wasn’t sex). He did all the things I associate with being in a relationship. Our - actually MY - comfort in our physical proximity. Our instant rapport.  Our wicked conversation (which included such topics as evolution, Shakespeare, travel and music). All this served as a reminder that even though it’s been years since I’ve felt like this, it was still possible to feel like this.

Fuck.

Feelings are messy, distracting, and take up a lot of time. I had effectively turned off that part of my psyche after the demise of my last relationship in order to focus on me. For years, I was the happy single girl that annoyed my friends’ husbands and boyfriends – because I served as a reminder that the grass can be greener – and by not having to pay attention to another person, I had created an efficient little bubble for myself and I loved it.  In three hours, this man popped that bubble.

Fucking fuck.

He was a catalyst; forcing me to think about what life would be like with another person. What this experiment meant to the other facets of my life. What will happen when I do meet someone? Which reminded me that  in order to meet someone, I’d have to actually put myself out there to meet someone.

Fuckingfuckingfuck.

Going out in a sugar-coated persona is easy. Being me? Ermmm… I’d have to force myself outside of my bubble. Be open to the possibility of meeting someone I’d want hold hands with.

Which meant changing a few things. I (very…VERY) reluctantly ended my “arrangement”. I told him the truth; that stuff had changed and I wanted to focus my energies on finding a relationship. He was supportive about my decision to end things (but I suspected he’d be cool like that).  This means no sexual safety net.

Fuck (or lack of actually).

I will go out with open eyes. I don’t “see” people when I’m out. I can effectively ignore the world around me. But that means missing a lot.

Most of all, I will tell people I’m ready. Which for my friends meant a lot of surprised stares. But now if someone says to them “is she single?” they won’t say “good luck”; they’ll say “yes, and she’s looking…”

Yes. Really.

(sighs) Fuck.