I don’t know if any of y’all have ever been through a break-up, but since we’re human and you, reader, are probably of dating age so you’ve probably experienced some sort of I-like/d-you-but-it-didn’t-work-out scenario and it sucks, right?
I’d go as far as saying it blows.
(Yeah, I went there.)
But unless you’re a total nutcase, nobody enjoys the feeling of someone reaching into your chest Indiana Jones style and tearing your heart out.
My heart got ripped out at the beginning of this year when my boyfriend of four years and I decided to call it quits due to life and adulting. It took me a while to scoop the bits of my heart goo off the floor and squeeze it back into my chest hole. It was hard; I still get sad sometimes.
*seemingly long, sad, awkward silence that actually only lasts four seconds*
But let’s move on, to something a little more amusing, yeah?
I decided to get back into the “dating game” by downloading Tinder and spending hours swiping and taking Reddit-worthy screenshots, usually while taking a bubble bath. It was a really weird, yet relaxing thing I did. But it seriously confused me…this is what I missed in 4 years? This is what we do now? This is what modern romance has been reduced to? A slight thumb movement to the right?
I mean, kind of.
I didn’t actually intend to meet anyone from Tinder in real life because I kind of liked watching my ego slowly inflate like a pathetic air mattress as strangers “liked” my face. I also didn’t want to take it much further than that because social awkwardness….until one night.
My friend and I went out to a bar to be adults, and we both ended up drunk, and my friend took my phone and asked some random Tinder match I had been chatting with to come meet us at the bar. We’ll call him Pat.
It was midnight, and Pat showed up, regardless of the fact he was 20-30 minutes away. By the time he got there I was completely sober and it was very, very uncomfortable and my emergency stash of social skills was running very, very low. He was 30-something, wore socks with sandals, and had the most ridiculous pseudo-Californian Surfer Valley Dude accent I’ve ever heard in my life. Each word dragged on for at least five unnecessary seconds longer than it should’ve. After probably a half hour of being cordial and laughing awkwardly and trying not to touch his being with my being by accident, we ended up leaving after he repeatedly asked for us to stay or go to another bar. We exchanged a very awkward hug, I slithered into an Uber and disappeared into the darkness.
I woke up the next day with my phone blown up with his texts that sort of went something like this:
Pat: Good morning
Pat: I had a lot of fun last night
Pat: Did you have fun?
Pat: Oh so we’re playing that game
Pat: I see how it is
Pat: Can you give me your friend’s number?
Pat: Ha! Got you to respond.
Me: I was sleeping.
Pat: That’s what they all say.
Needless to say, it didn’t work out. He asked me for criticism of the date and him in general to which I said he might want to chill on the multiple texting. I want to say he heeded my advice, but I saw him still on Tinder the other day so I guess not.
I met a dude at a Fourth of July party at the beach house of a CEO who, for some reason, likes me enough to invite me to her vacation home. We can refer to this dude as Undercut, because he had an undercut hairstyle and after seeing it I realized I had a weird fetish for this haircut but that’s something we’re not going to discuss today.
Or probably ever.
Anyway, so Undercut was there and I hadn’t flirted in over four years so my attempt of flirting with this dude was to insult him like little kids do in Elementary School. I don’t know why my mind automatically went, “This guy is attractive, better come off as a total douche nozzle” but it did. I don’t know how to feel about my primal reaction to a possible mate being making myself as unattractive as possible, so let’s not overthink it. If I was an endangered animal my species would be extinct if it was up to me to keep it going.
I tried to redeem myself for this behavior by casually showing up at the bar he worked at over the following weeks and being amiable. We had small talk, but nothing earth-shattering, but still I was determined to go on a date and do whatever people my age do when they think someone’s cute. Touch his face? Something? What do I do with my hands? I’m not sure.
After about four visits to the bar, I was chatting with him outside before I left and mustered up the lady balls to ask him out. I had been reading a dating book and it basically Shia LaBeouf‘d me and told me to JUST DO IT. It went a little something like this:
Me: So, hey, would you want to get coffee sometime?
Undercut: Sure. I mean, should I give you my number? Is that unorthodox?
Me: *nervous laughter because this is not going as planned and I temporarily forgot what “unorthodox” meant*
Undercut: *puts number in my phone* My name’s Undercut.
Me: I know your name…
Driving home I listened to Beyonce’s “Run the World” on repeat because I felt like a BO$$. I felt like I was in an episode of an empowering female-centric cable series and that I was supposed to go home and drink a giant glass of wine and jump around on the couch in my underwear in celebration of my ballsyness.
I texted him the next day.
Me: Hey, it’s Kelly from last night. How’s it going? I was wondering if you wanted to get that coffee or something sometime next week.
Undercut: Hi, I’m good.
Undercut: Yeah the thing is I might be sort of seeing someone but hanging out could still be a possibility.
Undercut: Do you hate me?
Me: Yeah…I totally hate you. No, it’s fine, whatever you’re comfortable with… We could always just hang with friends or something. Just let me know.
Undercut: Ok. I’m working tonight at the bar.
Me: Cool! I’m not working…
And then I went and dug a hole in my backyard and promptly curled up into it and died.
I actually saw him last week for the first time since this incident at a different bar. I was sitting with some friends and I hear behind me “K…Kelly? Kelly…..?” and I turned around and boom there’s Undercut, who no longer has an undercut, who now is just Dude With Normal Hair That Smokes Cigarettes Apparently.
We briefly chatted, I resisted the urge to yell “WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL ME I’M A VERY DESIRABLE INDIVIDUAL IF YOU HAVEN’T NOTICED” and I left.
Thought for a moment that he’d text me or Facebook request me after that.
But it’s fine because I heard he’s notorious for crying before/after/during sex.