That's why they call it a crush.
Because it can be crushing.
At my last writing about Mr. Butterflies it had been two days without a word from the other end of the phone line. But, being that I am the progressive modern woman that I am, I decide to go after what I want. It helped that I talked to my friend Jeff and he plans to ask out a girl he knows who has a boyfriend because, "You should go after what you want."
So if Jeffy can ask out a very un-single lady I can ask out someone who has already been on two dates with me and seemed to have a nice time. He has a Ph.D. in psychology, not acting.
I decide a safe bet is a text about where I can get Ale-8 in LA. First, because it opens up the lines of communication again around a "safe" topic. I'm not asking him to hang out or anything. Second, because I really do want to know where I can get Ale-8! To withhold that information is just cruel and unusual punishment!
So, I as I am sunning myself on the beach I send him a text message.
"I'm going to be in LA tomorrow to watch a UK basketball game with a bunch of Wildcat Fans and I have a feeling some Ale-8 will be needed. Can you disclose your super-secret supply line?"
And then nothing for the rest of the day. By the time I go to bed I have decided that even if he texts back I am not responding for at least three days. Despite the fact that this goes against my rule of "I don't play those dumb dating games".
The next day I get up and head to LA for the game. For 9:45 in the morning there is a pretty good group of UK fans amassed. I end up sitting down beside Emily and Nick. Emily is a recent transplant and Nick is her friend who has been out here a few years now. After the crushing loss to Vandy in the SEC, I exchange numbers with Emily and Nick and make loose plans to meet up with them again. By the way, they are both awesome (or I wouldn't have given them my number... duh) and I thrilled to have made friends with people I can actually see myself hanging out with.
Emily shoots me a text and then almost instantly a second text pops up with the message, "This is Nick."
My heart leaps into my throat and I am so excited I am not thinking clearly. I am thrilled! This explains why he hasn't text me back! He lost his phone. He changed his number. There is some logical explanation. Yeah! I am not crazy!
The little cheerleader in my mind is doing backflips and before I can stop myself I text back, "Well hello there! I thought you were dead!"
And then it hits me. It is UK-Wildcats-fan-Nick. The guy-who-is-sitting-beside-me-Nick. The person-I-just-gave-my-number-to-Nick.
Not Mr. Butterflies Nick.
Party of one. Crushed.
From beside me I hear Wildcat Nick laugh and say, "Why would I be dead?"
I try to come up with something plausible, but if I am going to lie I need a few minutes to plan it. Off the cuff lies are not my strong suite. This is why I can't be a politician. So I go with the truth.
"I thought you were someone else there for a minute. Someone I have been wanting to hear from." Sigh.
We leave the bar, say our goodbyes, and I contemplate walking down to the LACMA and the La Brea Tar Pits because I am only a few blocks away. Those are two of my favorite places in LA, but they both remind me of Nick. Mr. Butterflies Nick. Going there means I will wallow, and I refuse to allow myself to wallow over someone with whom I have spent less than 24 cumulative hours. Regardless of how great those few hours were.
Oh, how I want to wallow though! But no! This is the year of 52 dates. This is for the best.
I mentally put on my Big Girl Panties, and head to Fairfax to check out some thrift stores, hoping I can find some good steals to distract me from the crummy day. Roaming through thrift stores I find a book by an author who will on campus next week, a cute little vintage fascinator hat that matches my Keeneland dress for April, and a knife storage system for my Momma. A very successful thrift store day.
Just when I had given up all hope of hearing from Nick and have distracted myself substantially with some retail therapy guess... who... texts?
That's right. Mr. Butterflies Nick. He has finally decided to respond to my pleas for Ale-8.
"I might be persuaded for some... moonshine."
"Ha! That could be arranged."
"I like the way you think Criggs!"
That's right. He calls me Criggs... He arrived at that all by himself. My best friends call me Criggs. Most guys I go out with don't even know my last name. I thought that was a good sign. I guess I was mistaken.
"Well, maybe you'll like this thought too. I'm in LA today and my afternoon plans got canceled. Wanna hang out?"
And then silence. For over an hour.
"Or not." I text as I headed to the Farmer's Market to get some lunch since at this point it was 3:00 and all I had put in my stomach was two beers.
When I arrived at the Farmer's Market I decided to quit being coy, if that is even what I was doing and call him. So I parked, pulled out my phone and dialed his number.
It rang a few times and went to voicemail. I was not in the least bit surprised.
"Hi Nick. It's Crigger. I feel like I am getting the brush off, and that's fine." Not really!! my mind is screaming but I manage to keep that from bursting out my mouth because I am not actually a psycho. "But I really would like to know where I can buy some Ale-8 in the city since I am in town today. If you would just text me the info that would be great. Thanks."
I am willing to admit that this was a little passive aggressive. But I'm not going to beg someone to pay attention to me.
I am fantastic! Even when I am bummed out.
I get out of my car, having lost my appetite, make my way to a bookstore. Some people find solace in a good rom-com movie. Some call their mom, their sister, their best friend. Others a beer or ice cream cone. Some a beer flavored ice cream cone.
Me? I prefer a good ol' tragic Russian novel. A few chapters of War and Peace, and things wouldn't seem so bad I was sure. Getting lost in the troubles of someone else always helps.
And it did this time too.
But I am still bummed. This little exchange has taken the wind out of my dating sails for a week or two. Before, I was bombs away splashing into the dating pool. Now it is more of an effort. I have to force myself to slide off the side and into the shallow end.
It is frustrating. The not knowing. The thinking things were great only to find out there was a false front.
I suppose this has served a purpose. It reminds me to be kind and truthful with the people I am seeing. Thinking that I am letting someone down easily by ignoring their texts or putting off their suggested plans might be easy for me, but maybe not for them.
Everyone needs a good ego bruising to keep them humble.
I guess this was mine.
Probably one of many to come.
Because it can be crushing.
At my last writing about Mr. Butterflies it had been two days without a word from the other end of the phone line. But, being that I am the progressive modern woman that I am, I decide to go after what I want. It helped that I talked to my friend Jeff and he plans to ask out a girl he knows who has a boyfriend because, "You should go after what you want."
So if Jeffy can ask out a very un-single lady I can ask out someone who has already been on two dates with me and seemed to have a nice time. He has a Ph.D. in psychology, not acting.
I decide a safe bet is a text about where I can get Ale-8 in LA. First, because it opens up the lines of communication again around a "safe" topic. I'm not asking him to hang out or anything. Second, because I really do want to know where I can get Ale-8! To withhold that information is just cruel and unusual punishment!
So, I as I am sunning myself on the beach I send him a text message.
"I'm going to be in LA tomorrow to watch a UK basketball game with a bunch of Wildcat Fans and I have a feeling some Ale-8 will be needed. Can you disclose your super-secret supply line?"
And then nothing for the rest of the day. By the time I go to bed I have decided that even if he texts back I am not responding for at least three days. Despite the fact that this goes against my rule of "I don't play those dumb dating games".
The next day I get up and head to LA for the game. For 9:45 in the morning there is a pretty good group of UK fans amassed. I end up sitting down beside Emily and Nick. Emily is a recent transplant and Nick is her friend who has been out here a few years now. After the crushing loss to Vandy in the SEC, I exchange numbers with Emily and Nick and make loose plans to meet up with them again. By the way, they are both awesome (or I wouldn't have given them my number... duh) and I thrilled to have made friends with people I can actually see myself hanging out with.
Emily shoots me a text and then almost instantly a second text pops up with the message, "This is Nick."
My heart leaps into my throat and I am so excited I am not thinking clearly. I am thrilled! This explains why he hasn't text me back! He lost his phone. He changed his number. There is some logical explanation. Yeah! I am not crazy!
The little cheerleader in my mind is doing backflips and before I can stop myself I text back, "Well hello there! I thought you were dead!"
And then it hits me. It is UK-Wildcats-fan-Nick. The guy-who-is-sitting-beside-me-Nick. The person-I-just-gave-my-number-to-Nick.
Not Mr. Butterflies Nick.
Party of one. Crushed.
From beside me I hear Wildcat Nick laugh and say, "Why would I be dead?"
I try to come up with something plausible, but if I am going to lie I need a few minutes to plan it. Off the cuff lies are not my strong suite. This is why I can't be a politician. So I go with the truth.
"I thought you were someone else there for a minute. Someone I have been wanting to hear from." Sigh.
We leave the bar, say our goodbyes, and I contemplate walking down to the LACMA and the La Brea Tar Pits because I am only a few blocks away. Those are two of my favorite places in LA, but they both remind me of Nick. Mr. Butterflies Nick. Going there means I will wallow, and I refuse to allow myself to wallow over someone with whom I have spent less than 24 cumulative hours. Regardless of how great those few hours were.
Oh, how I want to wallow though! But no! This is the year of 52 dates. This is for the best.
I mentally put on my Big Girl Panties, and head to Fairfax to check out some thrift stores, hoping I can find some good steals to distract me from the crummy day. Roaming through thrift stores I find a book by an author who will on campus next week, a cute little vintage fascinator hat that matches my Keeneland dress for April, and a knife storage system for my Momma. A very successful thrift store day.
Just when I had given up all hope of hearing from Nick and have distracted myself substantially with some retail therapy guess... who... texts?
That's right. Mr. Butterflies Nick. He has finally decided to respond to my pleas for Ale-8.
"I might be persuaded for some... moonshine."
"Ha! That could be arranged."
"I like the way you think Criggs!"
That's right. He calls me Criggs... He arrived at that all by himself. My best friends call me Criggs. Most guys I go out with don't even know my last name. I thought that was a good sign. I guess I was mistaken.
"Well, maybe you'll like this thought too. I'm in LA today and my afternoon plans got canceled. Wanna hang out?"
And then silence. For over an hour.
"Or not." I text as I headed to the Farmer's Market to get some lunch since at this point it was 3:00 and all I had put in my stomach was two beers.
When I arrived at the Farmer's Market I decided to quit being coy, if that is even what I was doing and call him. So I parked, pulled out my phone and dialed his number.
It rang a few times and went to voicemail. I was not in the least bit surprised.
"Hi Nick. It's Crigger. I feel like I am getting the brush off, and that's fine." Not really!! my mind is screaming but I manage to keep that from bursting out my mouth because I am not actually a psycho. "But I really would like to know where I can buy some Ale-8 in the city since I am in town today. If you would just text me the info that would be great. Thanks."
I am willing to admit that this was a little passive aggressive. But I'm not going to beg someone to pay attention to me.
I am fantastic! Even when I am bummed out.
I get out of my car, having lost my appetite, make my way to a bookstore. Some people find solace in a good rom-com movie. Some call their mom, their sister, their best friend. Others a beer or ice cream cone. Some a beer flavored ice cream cone.
Me? I prefer a good ol' tragic Russian novel. A few chapters of War and Peace, and things wouldn't seem so bad I was sure. Getting lost in the troubles of someone else always helps.
And it did this time too.
But I am still bummed. This little exchange has taken the wind out of my dating sails for a week or two. Before, I was bombs away splashing into the dating pool. Now it is more of an effort. I have to force myself to slide off the side and into the shallow end.
It is frustrating. The not knowing. The thinking things were great only to find out there was a false front.
I suppose this has served a purpose. It reminds me to be kind and truthful with the people I am seeing. Thinking that I am letting someone down easily by ignoring their texts or putting off their suggested plans might be easy for me, but maybe not for them.
Everyone needs a good ego bruising to keep them humble.
I guess this was mine.
Probably one of many to come.
Joe here . . . you're a tough cookie and this guy sucks balls for playing with you like that. He should have given you some sort of let-down-easy-not-interested actual message instead of keeping you on stand-by. Hang in there kid. Also, no reason you can't combine beer-flavored ice cream with a good book for solace.
ReplyDeleteHave fun with Laura and the ladies in Vegas!