As my love sabbatical reaches its final weeks, I’ve had some time to ponder about why I despise online dating as much as I do. For one thing, I find the whole idea to be completely unnatural, but that’s probably because in my mind it’s still 1995 and my see-through pager clipped onto my waistband is my most technologically advanced mode of communication. I suppose I should just accept that this is how shit works these days, but I don’t roll like that. I always want to fight the system. Basically, I’m a pain in the ass.
When I graduated college, I was pretty certain that it would just be a matter of time before I met some amazing guy, got married, and started a family. After all, I was in my early 20’s, had escaped 4 years of undergrad without gaining any weight, and was working in Manhattan for a brag-worthy company (making pennies, but still)! And since I have zero ability to live in the moment, along with a glass-half-empty outlook on life, it was not surprising that I began to preemptively stress over what experiences I might not have before I ended up marrying the last man I would ever sleep with. Not that I was totally inexperienced or a prude, but there were definitely some things that I had yet to have done, sexually speaking. Contemplating a future with one, and only one sexual partner, prompted me to create my own little bucket list – a sexual bucket list, if you will, that I decided I would have to complete before my upcoming matrimony to my then unidentified future husband.
I probably wasn’t ready to get married.
I dated my ex-husband for two years before we got engaged. We were engaged for a year and a half before our big, lavish wedding. We got divorced four years later.
Looking back now, I’m not quite sure that I was as mature enough for marriage as I had thought I was. Truthfully, I’m pretty sure I didn’t even think about whether or not my maturity should even be a factor. The harsh reality is, I wasn’t exactly “marriage material” at the time.
Even though I recently put my list of non-negotiable out into the world in the hopes that the universe would deliver me my perfect man, I have decided that while I wait for Mother Nature to do her thing, I am going to be taking a little dating hiatus, or love sabbatical, as I like to call it.
I’m really not sure why I even bother to get my hopes up anymore when it comes to dating. Yet, once again, I’ve found myself disappointed after what I thought may have been a potentially decent candidate. Mike sent me a message on one of my dating apps. He appeared cute, in an understated way, and a little nerdy. Totally not my type at all, but his profile seemed above-average normal, he was within my desired age bracket, and he lived less than 50 miles away (score!). Besides, he sent a cute first message, which consisted of more than “hi” or “omg you’re so beautiful, how are you singl…”(snore.) So I decided to play along and respond, especially since I’ve been getting major shit from my friends for being “too picky” lately (sometimes I let them watch me swipe through Tinder. Bad move.)
My best friend, Harry, is a sex addict. Or at least that was the story we were going with, up until a couple of months ago when he miraculously had a “come to Jesus” moment (or rather more like a “I think I’ll try to be a good boy for a little while, just to see how long I can stand it” moment) and decided to stop sleeping with anything with a vagina and a car. For a while there, his bedroom was a revolving door of women, sometimes too many for me to keep track of, all vying for Harry’s love and attention. There were times I wish I could have warned some of these poor ladies, since nobody knows what a futile task it is to try to win Harry’s heart more than I do, but being his “bestie” I could only listen, often laugh (sorry – terrible, I know), and attempt, unsuccessfully, to beat some sense into his thick head. The truth is, it wouldn’t have mattered what, if anything, I had said to any women in his life, because there is just something about Harry that can make even the most sensible woman lose her goddamn mind.
“There is something I need to tell you…..”
That was the text message that I got the day after Christmas, about 4 months after I “met” Kevin on Tinder, and a few months after he had a complete nervous breakdown.
“I have lied to you. I am married and not the person you’ve seen in my pictures. Please do not contact me again. I have blocked your number and will not see any response you might have to this message.”
Are. You. Fucking. Serious?????
Previously on Catfished – Part 1 Kevin had allegedly had a mental breakdown and had been taken to Connecticut to recover at his mother’s house.
The next morning I sat at work sick to my stomach, wondering what the fuck had just happened. Almost on cue I receive a text message. It was from Kevin’s phone, but it wasn’t Kevin. It was his sister, Jenny. She was texting to let me know that he had arrived safely at their mom’s house, and that she had taken his phone away from him because “he had been writing crazy things to his friends,” but that he had asked her to reach out to me to keep me posted and to thank me for being there for him. We had an uncomfortable brief exchange about how I knew him, and she said she that no offense, but the whole thing seemed a little weird to her. Awkward…
It’s the most wonderful time of the year…well for a lot of people at least. For some of us, not so much. As we are in the midst of the holiday season with Christmas soon approaching, most people are looking forward to spending time celebrating with their families, and perhaps reminiscing of holidays past. For me, however, this particular Christmas certainly has me reminiscing, but not about warm and fuzzy memories.
It was Christmas day last year, when the guy that I had been speaking to for the past 3 months called me up from his “mother’s” house and said a quick hello while his “nieces and nephews” were screaming in the background. I remember being really happy to have received that call considering how rough things had been the two months prior. Perhaps I should backtrack…