Alright. I've had enough. What is it about men that they never actually live up to the fact that they're adults? When you're a kid, you know that there are rules to the games you play, but you can get away with not following them. When you're an adult, the rules (shockingly) actually apply. That is, if you aren't afraid of getting beaten by your opponent.
So I'm wondering, then, why I haven't heard anything back yet from said person in previous post. He's well into what most would consider "manhood" but it seems that he isn't able to locate his balls.
Since he still hasn't responded, I pulled a classic crazy girl move and did a little facebook investigation. I was able to gather from another source that there might be something up with his phone, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt and took matters into my own hands. This morning, via email, I gave him one last chance.
I decided to keep my message minimal, but refused to compromise my main points:
"Hey, haven't heard from you in a while. Is everything ok?
Hope the move is going well... I'd love to see you if you have time this week.
M"
He comes from a literary background and I'm pretty sure he can read between the lines:
Hey, haven't heard from you in a while.
WTF?
Is everything ok?
This is your chance to give a viable excuse for your behavior.
Hope the move is going well...
Yes, I know you're busy, but I don't buy that you're too busy for a ten second text.
I'd love to see you sometime this week if you're free.
If you come up with a good enough reason as to why you've gone MIA, I might consider seeing you again.
If he doesn't respond, well then we really do know that boys never really grow into men, or at the very least, men never really grow out of acting like boys.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Maybe He's Just Not That Into Me
I remember when that awful book first came out. My mother told my sisters and I that she was going to go out and buy a copy for each of us.
Thanks, Mom.
Recalling this moment is like cramming salt into an open wound. In this case, it's an open wound that I've been pretending I haven't noticed for the past few days.
Like I said yesterday, I haven't been so great about actively seeking out a soul mate in this city, but that doesn't mean I haven't been having fun splashing in the kiddie pool with some of the rejects. I've gotten (and given) a few numbers that were worth a few good dates, but there is one in particular that had a good enough opening scene to earn a few good months.
The full story of how it all began will have to wait until another post, because I'll spoil the sweetness with piss and vinegar if I include it in this one.
Long story short, I'm mad. I've effectively been dating someone for three months and within the last week, our communication has gone from plentiful and playful down to sparse and cordial, and down even further to non-existent. It's certainly not for lack of my own attempts, (and no, I have not been clingy.) He's had plenty of space, and time (over two days, now) to respond to my most recent text of "Hey, how's your day?"
I'm pretty sure I couldn't be any less threatening or overbearing if I tried (ok, yes, I am trying), so I don't know what's up. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I've scared him off being that girl that he just can't be bothered to keep around.
Maybe my mother should have bought me that book once upon a time when it was released. It would save me the embarrassment of having to purchase it now. But maybe I should read the sequel, because maybe I'm just not that into him either.
Maybe.
Thanks, Mom.
Recalling this moment is like cramming salt into an open wound. In this case, it's an open wound that I've been pretending I haven't noticed for the past few days.
Like I said yesterday, I haven't been so great about actively seeking out a soul mate in this city, but that doesn't mean I haven't been having fun splashing in the kiddie pool with some of the rejects. I've gotten (and given) a few numbers that were worth a few good dates, but there is one in particular that had a good enough opening scene to earn a few good months.
The full story of how it all began will have to wait until another post, because I'll spoil the sweetness with piss and vinegar if I include it in this one.
Long story short, I'm mad. I've effectively been dating someone for three months and within the last week, our communication has gone from plentiful and playful down to sparse and cordial, and down even further to non-existent. It's certainly not for lack of my own attempts, (and no, I have not been clingy.) He's had plenty of space, and time (over two days, now) to respond to my most recent text of "Hey, how's your day?"
I'm pretty sure I couldn't be any less threatening or overbearing if I tried (ok, yes, I am trying), so I don't know what's up. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I've scared him off being that girl that he just can't be bothered to keep around.
Maybe my mother should have bought me that book once upon a time when it was released. It would save me the embarrassment of having to purchase it now. But maybe I should read the sequel, because maybe I'm just not that into him either.
Maybe.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
A Penchant for Words
Recently, I've run into what some are calling a bit of a problem. Apparently I've caused more than a few raised eyebrows and hushed comments due to my desire to sit and write rather than spend my time seeking Mr. Right.
I was raised to be polite - gracious, even - so I know I should say that I'm grateful for the concern from my family and friends, but I'm not. I'm about as grateful for their opinion as I am for the zit that sprung into action on my forehead this morning. Neither one is helping me get any decent dates, and both are only strengthening my urge to hole up in my room and play my tiny violin to a fresh notebookfull of paper.
So that's why I'm here; I'm beginning my Bitching as a tribute to these well-meaning people in my life. The idea is to write about all of the things that I'm doing (and perhaps also those that I'm not) to find a man in this lonely city and to come clean about the secrets I've been keeping in my writing life. Maybe there will be a lesson in chronicling my Sass in the City behavior, but I'm not holding out for any miracles. My priority (and my affections) still lie with my words, my mechanical pencils, and my college-ruled notebook paper.
I was raised to be polite - gracious, even - so I know I should say that I'm grateful for the concern from my family and friends, but I'm not. I'm about as grateful for their opinion as I am for the zit that sprung into action on my forehead this morning. Neither one is helping me get any decent dates, and both are only strengthening my urge to hole up in my room and play my tiny violin to a fresh notebookfull of paper.
So that's why I'm here; I'm beginning my Bitching as a tribute to these well-meaning people in my life. The idea is to write about all of the things that I'm doing (and perhaps also those that I'm not) to find a man in this lonely city and to come clean about the secrets I've been keeping in my writing life. Maybe there will be a lesson in chronicling my Sass in the City behavior, but I'm not holding out for any miracles. My priority (and my affections) still lie with my words, my mechanical pencils, and my college-ruled notebook paper.
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