Thursday, February 5, 2009

The Begger

On my second date with Mr. Mature, I invited him over to my house to watch a movie in the afternoon. We ended up spending the afternoon and evening together – we had a lot of fun, laughs, and great conversation. As the evening wore on into the early morning we started playing around a little. However, the play started out fine but then quickly went downhill.

It started with the fact that he was having a difficult time expressing his excitement. I’m well aware that this is a common enough thing for guys, especially those over 35, and given my pre-existing exhaustion, I suggested we call it a night and revisit the play another time. But, oooh no. He was determined. He was determined for two hours… until he threw his back out.

Believe it or not, at this point I just want the night to be over. But, oooh no. I need to try to help him get his back realigned (or something) which requires him to lay on the floor of my bedroom (naked) twisting and turning in all kinds of unattractive ways. So now I’m exhausted, not interested in continuing this night, and really really annoyed. So I work up my courage and ask him to leave.

This is when the shit hit the fan. It started a little like this:
“Please don’t make me go home.”
“Well, I really think it’s best at this point.”
“Please please don’t make me leave.”
“The stuff to make your back better is at home and I really need to get to sleep.”
“I’ll do anything, just let me sleep here with you.”

Okay. Let me be clear. This is in NO WAY sweet, cute, or romantic. All sexual interest I had in the man slipped away as I watched him flip flop on my bedroom floor grunting in pain and making faces like he had gas. And now he was begging. BEGGING! The dialogue went on for probably fifteen minutes total. There were hugs and whining and pleading and... ick.

Eventually the poor guy relented and agreed to go home, but not before he kindly informed me that his friends were really excited to meet his new girlfriend.
“Girlfriend?” I said.
“Well, you are, aren’t you?”
“Um. I think we should have this conversation sometime that isn’t tonight.”

The next day I told him I didn’t see things working out with us… via email. I still regret not being a bigger person and at least calling him up. I really hope he’s happy… elsewhere.

~ Dinah

PS ~ A lesson: Not only is someone not your girlfriend after the second date, but she’s not after the twelfth, either, if you haven’t had a conversation about it with her.

Monday, February 2, 2009

The Slobby Lobby Crasher

I had just moved to Chicago from a small town on the East Coast and had no clue how to navigate the CTA, especially the Clark & Lake transfer from the Green Line to the Brown Line. I promptly asked a young man sitting next to me if he could tell me which way to go, and with his response he asked for my name and cell phone number. I thought he looked like a decent guy, and I was desperately in need of meeting new friends in my new home, so I gave him my number. I found out his name was John, and he lived in Lincoln Park.

Two days later John called and asked me if I wanted to meet for drinks after work sometime. Because I was still new to the city and unsure of myself, he suggested we meet at a pub in my neighborhood. I thought this sounded like a great idea, so I met him at my favorite bar just a few blocks away from my new apartment.

John kept buying the two of us gin & tonics, probably trying to get me to loosen up a little bit, as he could tell I was nervous. However, being a smart woman, I try to avoid drinking with people I barely know, so I only sipped one of the drinks. John, on the other hand, kept on drinking one after another, and within two hours was so smashed he could hardly stand up. I felt bad for the guy, especially since his speech was so slurred he couldn't call for a cab to take him home. So, being the nice girl I am, I took him home with me and let him sleep in the lobby of my apartment until I kicked him out the next morning. John never called me again, but I didn't care. I'd rather date someone who wanted to take the time to get to know me, not the alcohol at my favorite bar.

~ Alice