Old Man Heebie-Jeebies

As you remember, Mr. Kerouac wooed me right at first. We saw each other a few times. We went to brunch because I wasn’t sure if I was comfortable going to dinner. What if he has a weird voice? I hate not knowing someone’s voice. He was funny and intelligent.

But, Warning Sign #1:
-He told me how men thought overall. “It’s okay that you didn’t play a lot of sports because guys don’t like that. Guys like girls that are girly” Okay. No.

But when I’m bored, tired, and hoping to make out with someone, I think I overlook things like that. I don’t want him as a boyfriend. I just want a good kisser and someone that is entertaining. He asked me over to “listen to records and talk”. Code for make out.

Warning Sign #2:
-He didn’t ask me out out to see if there was romance. But again, I wanted to make out.
He had purchased two different types of wine, got hummus and crackers, and bought cheese cake and chocolate cake. He owned a teensy little house with stark-lined album art hanging on the walls. It was clean and he was relaxed. He had me pick my favorite album and we talked while I got annoyed that he wasn’t making any moves.

Finally, I move to leave, and he finally kisses me. His lips are soft, but his long beard and mustache are scratching. They’re so long that the hairs start to get a little wet. He is a talented and accommodating kisser. He goes to move me to his room.

Warning Sign #3:
-He struggles to lift me. I hate that. I hate feeling bigger and stronger than a guy. Call me too hetero-normative, but whatever.

He loved my bright blue, lacy bra and matching panties. He started to dry hump me, but didn’t actually touch me. I know I’m saving certain things for marriage…but if you’re dry humping me, don’t you think you could help things out with a finger or two? It was hot how many positions he moves me in and when he tells me that I look beautiful flushed.

Warning Signs #4 & #5:
-He couldn’t get my bra off…hasn’t he practiced? Weird. Unbecoming.
-He didn’t try to finish me. Most guys try. I haven’t had a guy not try.

He kept trying to woo me, talk to me, text me, then called me out for always being busy. But here’s the thing Mr.Kerouac, I expect guys to truly ask me on dates. And I expect to not feel the heebie-jeebies if I think about them touching me again.


Gap Year: Just Start Swiping

I should mention that I also had convinced myself that my (potential) husband was in Chicago. He was/is there waiting for someone just like me. He’s randomly gonna bump into me while he’s in a perfectly fitting peacoat, perfect jeans, fitted hat and Timbs. So obviously I was/am ready to get to him.

 So here I am sleeping in my mom’s childhood bedroom, spending my days blowing through my “savings” on chai lattes while I apply for jobs and spending my nights watching bravo and SWIPING!

 Yes… SWIPING… yes, on Tinder.

  The thing about Tinder is it’s the epitome of instant gratification.  And for an unemployed 20-something at the peak of her quarter life crisis anything that makes you feel wanted is worth a try.

I was so hesitant at first. It’s the internet! ONLY weirdos need the internet to find dates. Even though I didn’t feel like it at the time, I was still reminding myself that I was a smart, pretty, witty girl and I DID NOT need no damn dating app to find a man!

 “Just start swiping!” said my friend that should be a tinder brand ambassador. NO! Really she’s probably gone on at least 50-60 tinder dates. “It’s fun! You have nothing to lose and plus you can’t afford to take yourself out to eat.”

 With reassurance that “everyone” was swiping and the appeal of free food plus an excuse to put on makeup and real clothes was reason enough to do it.

And swipe I did! Lawd….

What felt like 100,000 subpar conversations and 1 horrible awkward date later (he had on Gucci shoes and LV belt! Yuck!)

 I finally matched with Handy.


 Honey Never Rots