Quease Factor: Sky High
General Dissatisfaction with Dating Scene: Beyond the Stratosphere "HIGH"
Overall Dating Score: Epic Fail
Could you be loved?
No, probably not Bob Marley, but thank-you for writing lyrics that are hazy. I'm pretty sure love is not supposed to make you feel queasy the following morning…or maybe that's just the hang-over. Or perhaps it's my moral conscience kicking me in the gut -- because I kind of went on a date with a "Married Man" recently. Not intentionally. He's my friend. We write at the same cafe. But yes I have been spending WAY too much time with this person. So I should've realized, "Let's grab a drink and celebrate my rewrite" could've bordered inappropriate.
I don't know, but it seems when you spend an excessive amount of time with one person you're going to develop some sort of deeper interest or connection. I suddenly see the value of rules or guidelines when it comes to opposite-sex friendships (or same-sex if you lean that way). I can't deny slight attraction had developed on my part. This is the main man I've associated with for the past two months. Whaddaya think was gonna happen?! Emotional Evolution -- that's what.
But it's okay because he's on the verge of a "divorce" and so what that he still sleeps in the same bed as his WIFE because according to him it means nothing and they no longer have sex. Not that sex alone defines a relationship, but I suppose that's why he took me out on this pseudo-date -- to potentially get lucky? I'm assuming this as I flashback to him thrusting his pelvis towards my region on the dance floor at our fourth and final drinking destination -- and the fact that he made a point of telling me he doesn't have sex with his wife. But EWW and BAD - our parts briefly connected through the fabric of his jeans and my tragic floral jumpsuit-shorts outfit. WTF was I wearing?! Thank-you mom for buying me clothes that do not suit the shape of my ass. And thank-you to my loving sister for not telling me how ridiculous I looked as I walked out the door.
After I realized how bad it was in the bathroom mirror at the Piano Bar -- our second drinking destination that night -- I proceeded to get trashed, so next time I caught a glimpse of my reflection it would appear less scary through my blurry vision. Definitely not from his -- at one point he said, "You're kind of pretty in an Eastern European way" and then he followed with, "You remind me of that quirky character from the sitcom, Friends," as in Phoebe. I get it - I'm a dysfunctional hippy. Well, I shouldn't be surprised because he said that right after I had just smoked this variety of marijuana called "Jelly Bean" that was offered to me by the pot owning dispensary girl that we met in the patio area. I'm not your typical stoner, but under these circumstances, it was like, Fuck it! Why not? I'm on what appears to be a date (an Accidental Date) with a Married Man and I'm wearing stupid clothes. If anyone needs medical marijuana to straighten out their brain -- it's ME.
Unfortunately the weed had an adverse effect which instead left me vulnerable to the Married Man's advances. For some reason I felt sorry for him and allowed him to kiss me. SIDE NOTE: This is how nice girls get manipulated.
The worst part was that it was kind of incestuous. Afterwards, he said, "You're like my sister." Awesome. Bro?
Thank the God of Eros, the primordial Greek god of sexual love and beauty, that it was quick and brief because I would have rather been donating bone marrow. But since the whole experience was very inappropriate it was just as well that I kissed a brother type.
Afterwards I had an epiphany to distract from what had happened. I decided we should have a frisking session with the pot lady. I guess this variety of marijuana was the touchy-feely kind. Anyway, it was very nice of her to let us touch her legs. Yep, I totally sexually harassed the girl who gave me free legal drugs.
This whole get-together was headed for disaster from the start. Why did I not cut it off after the first location?! I could feel, what I refer to as "The Dark Cloud (TDC)," looming over me as he went into detail about the concept of corruption. SIDE NOTE: In terms of resume, this guy is absolutely amazing. He's a documentary filmmaker; he works for National Geographic. You know -- a real humanitarian type. A worthy person to befriend…and to eventually marry. Why would I say that?! I'm not even an advocate of marriage.
It's all so deceptive and unclear.
Dating in your thirties is very different from dating in your twenties. In my twenties it was all carnivals and festivals and bright colors. Now that I'm in my thirties, suddenly it's conversations about political conspiracy theories, the state of the economy and world finance. Add your personal issues to the conversational platter and MAN you need an Army platoon to carry all that emotional baggage around.
INTERVAL: Aaaagggghhhh!!!!!! I'm at THE cafe finishing this article and "Married Man" just walked in. I'm totally going to act normal. Hi! Yes, its been awhile. No, I am totally NOT writing about you.
BTW: He claims that night was one of the best nights he's had in a long time. It left me borderline suicidal and in a personal state of crisis, but totally got you off. At least one of us wins.
I swear it must be so much easier being a man.
MARRIED MAN: You're leaving now.
MARRIED MAN: We should hang out again soon.
ME: Yeah, no -- ?
And then I walked into the door on my out. Dumbass.