I have a confession. Six or so months ago, I tried to start another blog. It was all about unimpressive gents and dating fiascos and it was really funny. I called it “How to Lose a Guy Before the Third Date”. Clever, huh?
Well, turns out I can’t maintain two blogs. Especially when I want to tell my dating stories here – and if that other one was gonna be anonymous … well, that just doesn’t work.
So I got rid of the other blog. I mean, it only ever got 12 views on its busiest day, so I doubt anyone’s going to miss it. But I still want to tell the stories. This story is actually one I posted as me – guest posting. Ohmygod typing that out sounds SO MUCH LAMER than doing it in secret. Maybe this is why I’m single.
It’s not why I’m single.
I’m single because these are the guys I go out with…
I met the Clinger back in October. Admittedly, OkCupid matched us at 47%, but he sent me a message that indicated he was a functioning, intelligent male. Since online dating inherently fucks with your standards, he met mine.
After a couple emails and one phone call, Clinger asked if I’d be interested in going to a Third Eye Blind concert one Sunday night. Who wouldn’t be interested in a Third Eye Blind concert? Clearly I agreed.
As we chatted over a pre-concert drink, Clinger made it clear that he was into me. I mean, really into me. As in, 15 minutes after we met, he began referencing “us” and our “relationship.” Yes, I’d like a boyfriend and yes, that is the point of dating (for me), but dude. Give it a couple dates, yeah? Or at least a couple hours?
He was very touchy-feely, held eye contact just long enough to be slightly creepy, and was just overall intense. At one point he took the typical touching-a-girl’s-arm-to-indicate-interest to a whole new level when he grabbed me in a fit of laughter and pulled me into him for an incredibly awkward side-by-side embrace.
Again, this is all in the first hour of meeting.
We walked to the concert and he held my hand. I let go, shoved one hand in my pocket and gripped my purse with the other. Instead of picking up on my body language, he put his arm around my shoulders.
Listen, we’re in Union Square. First, stop touching me. Second, you’re making it hard for me to walk. Third, TOO SOON!
I quickened my pace and he squeezed tighter and I realized this date was going downhill fast.
The concert was standing room only and as the audience crowded in, Clinger proceeded to stand directly behind me, hands on my shoulders/hips/arms/stomach – whichever body part he could get to while I shifted uncomfortably and tried to reinstate my personal bubble.
Now, I’m about as average a height as a girl can get (read: I’m exactly the female average) and this guy was not very tall. However, he was very, very concerned about my view. While I insisted I could see and he insisted I could not, I suddenly felt myself being lifted off the ground.
That’s right. HE PICKED ME UP. Hoisted me into the air like a doll.
Note to all men everywhere: THIS IS NOT OKAY EVER.
After being not-so-gracefully set back onto firm ground, I told Clinger very firmly that I did not enjoy being picked up. He chuckled in response and tried to kiss me. Delusional does not even begin to describe this guy.
The concert could not end fast enough. (Which was too bad, since aside from this asshat, it was awesome!) Finally, we made our way out and Clinger expressed a desperate desire to drive me home. First, this is Manhattan. No one drives anywhere except cabbies. Second, I don’t know you, so no, I will not be getting in your car. Third, well, there is no third, except I like symmetry and there were three things earlier.
Anyway, I half-heartedly (no-heartedly?) said he could call me (regrets) and pretty much ran away. I know I should I have rejected him on the spot, but I couldn’t think of a diplomatic way to say, ” No, thanks. I actually never want to be within 10 feet of you ever again. Please delete me from your phone and memory.”
The next day, he called. The day after that, he called again and left a message. The day after that I woke up to a 3am text asking me to lunch.
I decided it was getting pathetic and he clearly wasn’t taking my silence as a hint, so I sent him a text that said:
“Hey [Clinger], it was nice meeting you but I think we’re looking for different things. Take care.”
The End. JUST KIDDING! (What a lame ending that’d be to that story, no?)
He replied! “hey sara. i agree with your statement. was hoping we could go to round 2 and really figure that out. lunch? thats not even a date.”
Since I had absolutely no idea what there could possibly be to “figure out” on “round 2,” I did not reply. If I had, it might have read something like, “I actually figured it all out when you hoisted me into the air against my will, but thanks.”
The End. … JUST KIDDING AGAIN!
The next morning, at 8:34am, I received yet another text (actually, it was so long it was split into two texts) from Clinger:
“ok. clearly i was used for free drinks and concert tix. one tip. next time you say to a guy to call you, mean it. it hurt that u led me on. i know my worth. good luck.”
So, really, that’s why I’m single.