At least I wasn’t the one to fold first. Isn’t that what’s most important, after all? The one who can hold off without you the longest wins?
I have to give it to Summer Boy for choosing an appropriate subject for re-entering chat mode, feigning interest in my alma mater’s football game. I say feign because later that day, when I decided to respond, he rescinded his good luck wish for my team when I smartly refused to support the team he supports. What? He didn’t even go to school there. And we had covered that I hated Notre Dame. The only time I’ll cheer for them is when they play OSU, which they weren’t, and even then it was a lesser of two evils situation.
Of course that wasn’t the end of it. Text messaging about football loyalties shifted to why we were chatting at all which shifted to me sharing more of my angry feelings I hadn’t shared before when we ended things. And then he actually gave me his side of things.
It was your classic I’m going through my own “stuff” and don’t want to add any complications or drama to my life and I wouldn’t be able to give a relationship the time and attention it needed so I didn’t want to lead you on in any way.
> Except he did, kind of, because he hadn’t mentioned any of that to me, despite me having brought up the possibility of a relationship.
He also mentioned having started with an open mind about where things might lead, until he decided he was going to move down to central Illinios, at which point he “shut things down”.
> Except he hadn’t, shut things down, that is, until I pushed him to choose one side or the other.
I had wanted his reasons, but once I got them it was so clear that I didn’t actually need them. Not because they were so vague, but because it didn’t really matter. We wanted different things, and while I do wish he would have told me sooner, I (fortunately) don’t think I wasted any time on Summer Boy. He was, in a lot of ways, exactly what I had needed.
So what if he didn’t want to date me. The summer of fun was over and I was well on my way to replacing him. Have I ever mentioned how much I love the fall?
Showing posts with label Summer of Fun. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Summer of Fun. Show all posts
Pillow Talk
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
All that nonsense with the Karaoke King happened during the sexy time blackout with Summer Boy. Despite the blackout, communication remained high – emails, texts and even a phone call towards the end of my lake house vacation.
Communication was actually one of the reasons I liked Summer Boy so much. Even from the beginning there had been lots of pillow talk mixed into the sexy time. We covered all the bases – work, family, social life – and I had kind of gotten used to talking to him on a regular basis.
The longer our scene went on, though, the more I couldn’t decide how I felt about it. I definitely liked the chatting, and I’m pretty sure without it I wouldn’t have been as into him in general. I was worried he just needed a friend, though, that he just needed to talk to someone, not that he wanted to talk to me, specifically. And even if it was me that he wanted to talk to, I wasn’t sure the content of our chatting fell within the bounds of our loosely defined relationship.
Offloading about your crazy work day, fine. Discussing your latest running split times, completely appropriate. But breaking down the last few times you’ve eaten meat (a burger the night the Hawks won the cup and once or twice where he had a slice of pizza with some meat on it) even though you had decided to give it up and how you were waiting to give up sweets because you were a sucker for cake and your niece’s birthday was coming up? That’s not sexy or interesting.
If I was going to have to keep up with all the going ons of his friends (and also their names) shouldn’t I get something in return? Like dinner? I certainly wasn’t getting extra sexy time for all that listening.
Ah, there it is. That nagging feeling that my carefree, no strings attached summer fun scene was creeping into the realm of relationship land. That’s not what I had signed up for! Maybe once our schedules aligned better we could lay off the chatting and get refocused. I certainly hope so, I don’t think I’m ready to start reading Summer Boy’s food journal.
Communication was actually one of the reasons I liked Summer Boy so much. Even from the beginning there had been lots of pillow talk mixed into the sexy time. We covered all the bases – work, family, social life – and I had kind of gotten used to talking to him on a regular basis.
The longer our scene went on, though, the more I couldn’t decide how I felt about it. I definitely liked the chatting, and I’m pretty sure without it I wouldn’t have been as into him in general. I was worried he just needed a friend, though, that he just needed to talk to someone, not that he wanted to talk to me, specifically. And even if it was me that he wanted to talk to, I wasn’t sure the content of our chatting fell within the bounds of our loosely defined relationship.
Offloading about your crazy work day, fine. Discussing your latest running split times, completely appropriate. But breaking down the last few times you’ve eaten meat (a burger the night the Hawks won the cup and once or twice where he had a slice of pizza with some meat on it) even though you had decided to give it up and how you were waiting to give up sweets because you were a sucker for cake and your niece’s birthday was coming up? That’s not sexy or interesting.
If I was going to have to keep up with all the going ons of his friends (and also their names) shouldn’t I get something in return? Like dinner? I certainly wasn’t getting extra sexy time for all that listening.
Ah, there it is. That nagging feeling that my carefree, no strings attached summer fun scene was creeping into the realm of relationship land. That’s not what I had signed up for! Maybe once our schedules aligned better we could lay off the chatting and get refocused. I certainly hope so, I don’t think I’m ready to start reading Summer Boy’s food journal.
A Nice Save
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Either I had misinterpreted The Karaoke’s Kings propensity to smoother me or he picked up on my low tolerance for it during my early morning mumblings, because when I heard from him next it was Saturday morning and he invited me to watch some soccer with him. Not only had he chosen a during-the-day activity (with substantially less likelihood of slipping into drunken making out), he chose a location that served PBR (which he knew I loved from my OK Cupid profile) and had free popcorn (which he soon realized was another fave of mine). Obviously I accepted.
In the sober yet still dimmed lights of the Irish pub, I tried to analyze whether I had a connection with the Karaoke King that extended past delicious Italian snacks. Truth be told, once I got past feeling guilty about having gone out with someone other than Summer Boy I wasn’t even sure whether I had genuine interest in him. I would have loved most of our first date no matter who had been sitting on the balcony with me. I felt mixed about whether we had a good physical connection, too. I mean, he had a decent amount of facial hair, which is not my scene.
I remained on the fence; throughout the ridiculous - and terribly unclever might I add - soccer chants being yelled as the US sadly got beat, as we walked around his neighborhood, stopping in at the Walgreens to pick up band-aids for the knee I had skinned earlier in the week falling off the bus in the rain, and even as we ate mini-burgers and talked about what had brought him to Chicago from New York (combo of girlfriend and job opportunity, neither of which had worked out as planned).
I declined his offer to go up and see his place, so he somewhat reluctantly kissed me on my check and put me in a taxi before the sun went down. I couldn’t put my finger on why, but I definitely felt a bit of relief as I sped away down Lake Shore Drive.
I had enjoyed spending the afternoon with him, but I was also feeling that dreaded difference in interest level. He was sure he wanted to spend more time with me. I wasn’t sure we were a good fit. Or whether I would be able to get past his snoring if it turned out we were. Or whether I wanted to rock the boat with Summer Boy.
Wait a minute. The Karaoke King had made a nice second move, and he deserved some credit for that. I was the one getting ahead of myself, and I deserved a swift kick in the ass for falling back into that trap. Done. And done.
In the sober yet still dimmed lights of the Irish pub, I tried to analyze whether I had a connection with the Karaoke King that extended past delicious Italian snacks. Truth be told, once I got past feeling guilty about having gone out with someone other than Summer Boy I wasn’t even sure whether I had genuine interest in him. I would have loved most of our first date no matter who had been sitting on the balcony with me. I felt mixed about whether we had a good physical connection, too. I mean, he had a decent amount of facial hair, which is not my scene.
I remained on the fence; throughout the ridiculous - and terribly unclever might I add - soccer chants being yelled as the US sadly got beat, as we walked around his neighborhood, stopping in at the Walgreens to pick up band-aids for the knee I had skinned earlier in the week falling off the bus in the rain, and even as we ate mini-burgers and talked about what had brought him to Chicago from New York (combo of girlfriend and job opportunity, neither of which had worked out as planned).
I declined his offer to go up and see his place, so he somewhat reluctantly kissed me on my check and put me in a taxi before the sun went down. I couldn’t put my finger on why, but I definitely felt a bit of relief as I sped away down Lake Shore Drive.
I had enjoyed spending the afternoon with him, but I was also feeling that dreaded difference in interest level. He was sure he wanted to spend more time with me. I wasn’t sure we were a good fit. Or whether I would be able to get past his snoring if it turned out we were. Or whether I wanted to rock the boat with Summer Boy.
Wait a minute. The Karaoke King had made a nice second move, and he deserved some credit for that. I was the one getting ahead of myself, and I deserved a swift kick in the ass for falling back into that trap. Done. And done.
Hangover.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
The first thing I thought when my eyes opened in the pre-dawn hours to the sound of the Karaoke King’s alarm (I vaguely recalled he had said something about a part time job requiring him to be in the office at 4am) was “I need more sleep. And an Excedrin.” The second was “Shit.”
When I woke up a few hours later I had a bit of a headache. Also, I felt guilty. Guilty about harmless making out with the Karaoke King. It felt like a violation against my sort of spoken but not really enforced agreement with Summer Boy that if and when we got involved with someone else we would tell the other person.
But I hadn’t. Gotten involved, that is. Not enough to warrant having to tell Summer Boy about it. And certainly not enough to feel guilty about. In fact, now that I think about it, it’s his fault I needed the extra making out in the first place!
I should mention that around this time Summer Boy and I were heading into a series of weeks/weekends where at least one of us was unavailable. We were both of out of town one weekend and then the next weekend he had a wedding. He was dog sitting out in the burbs one week, I was away at the lake house the next. We had discussed our schedules so we both knew it was coming, but although I attempted to make more of an effort to see Summer Boy before the sexy time black out it didn’t seem to be a priority on his social calendar.
It was a teeny bit frustrating. You can’t give a girl access to awesomeness and then take it away from her cold turkey. Especially not to watch someone’s DOG. I had figured it wouldn’t hurt to just meet the Karaoke King. So it stands that I shouldn’t feel bad about making out with him, either.
I am going to have to do something about this headache, though. The Karaoke King is a snorer, so despite all the wine I got a terrible night’s sleep. I’m also a bit nauseous, but I think that’s because as he was leaving he whispered something mushy and smothering like “Let’s do this again at my place tonight. What time shall I call you later darling?” Excuse me while I go throw up.
When I woke up a few hours later I had a bit of a headache. Also, I felt guilty. Guilty about harmless making out with the Karaoke King. It felt like a violation against my sort of spoken but not really enforced agreement with Summer Boy that if and when we got involved with someone else we would tell the other person.
But I hadn’t. Gotten involved, that is. Not enough to warrant having to tell Summer Boy about it. And certainly not enough to feel guilty about. In fact, now that I think about it, it’s his fault I needed the extra making out in the first place!
I should mention that around this time Summer Boy and I were heading into a series of weeks/weekends where at least one of us was unavailable. We were both of out of town one weekend and then the next weekend he had a wedding. He was dog sitting out in the burbs one week, I was away at the lake house the next. We had discussed our schedules so we both knew it was coming, but although I attempted to make more of an effort to see Summer Boy before the sexy time black out it didn’t seem to be a priority on his social calendar.
It was a teeny bit frustrating. You can’t give a girl access to awesomeness and then take it away from her cold turkey. Especially not to watch someone’s DOG. I had figured it wouldn’t hurt to just meet the Karaoke King. So it stands that I shouldn’t feel bad about making out with him, either.
I am going to have to do something about this headache, though. The Karaoke King is a snorer, so despite all the wine I got a terrible night’s sleep. I’m also a bit nauseous, but I think that’s because as he was leaving he whispered something mushy and smothering like “Let’s do this again at my place tonight. What time shall I call you later darling?” Excuse me while I go throw up.
The Best Date Ever?
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Despite passing on polka and some hesitation on my part, the Karaoke King was insistent that we meet in person. We eventually settled on lunch plans which I had to break last minute so I could work from home and wait for the air conditioner repair men to do their thing. Not melting trumped pretty much everything as soon as the weather started warming up.
We tentatively rescheduled with drinks that same night and while I was sitting on my couch in my finally cool condo I tried to think of outdoor bars with a view that were close to me. I couldn’t help but think the best place was my deck, which overlooks the harbor. On the one hand, I had never met this guy so it was possible he was a serial killer (although, really, I think any crazy dude worth his salt would play down the craziness until he was invited into your house, even if it took a few dates to get the nod up). On the other, I did have some fantastic wine at my place and it would be SO easy to just meet at my house. I mean, I was already there.
He had said I could pick anywhere, so after a nod of support from E. I proposed my balcony as the location. It was accepted, although with some concern on his part. I assured him I was cool with it – it is the summer of no rules, after all! After meeting up at an Italian market in my neighborhood to pick up snacks first we headed back to my place.
It was the Best. Date. Ever. Sitting outside, with the gorgeous blue lake and the season’s first sailboats dotting the landscape, we sipped on delicious wine and a feast of olives, salami, caprese salad, cheese and bread. The Karaoke King was completely interesting. He’s lived all over and has had a few different careers in his life (he’s about 5 years older than I). We had overlapping interests and the conversation flowed easily.
The wine flowed easily, too, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise when the date transitioned right into making out. Making out followed by me wearing these ruffled panties that a neighbor had given me to spice things up with Summer Boy followed by a sleepover.
What had I been thinking?! The thing about a date at your house is that you’re already at your house. I had been worried about the danger of having a stranger in my house, but I completely forgot about the whole end-of-the-date-deciding-about-making-out-and-inviting-people-up scene.
Eh, I'm not going to sweat it. I had a really great evening, failed foresight notwithstanding. But maybe next time I’ll save this particular date idea for #3. Okay, maybe just #2.
We tentatively rescheduled with drinks that same night and while I was sitting on my couch in my finally cool condo I tried to think of outdoor bars with a view that were close to me. I couldn’t help but think the best place was my deck, which overlooks the harbor. On the one hand, I had never met this guy so it was possible he was a serial killer (although, really, I think any crazy dude worth his salt would play down the craziness until he was invited into your house, even if it took a few dates to get the nod up). On the other, I did have some fantastic wine at my place and it would be SO easy to just meet at my house. I mean, I was already there.
He had said I could pick anywhere, so after a nod of support from E. I proposed my balcony as the location. It was accepted, although with some concern on his part. I assured him I was cool with it – it is the summer of no rules, after all! After meeting up at an Italian market in my neighborhood to pick up snacks first we headed back to my place.
It was the Best. Date. Ever. Sitting outside, with the gorgeous blue lake and the season’s first sailboats dotting the landscape, we sipped on delicious wine and a feast of olives, salami, caprese salad, cheese and bread. The Karaoke King was completely interesting. He’s lived all over and has had a few different careers in his life (he’s about 5 years older than I). We had overlapping interests and the conversation flowed easily.
The wine flowed easily, too, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise when the date transitioned right into making out. Making out followed by me wearing these ruffled panties that a neighbor had given me to spice things up with Summer Boy followed by a sleepover.
What had I been thinking?! The thing about a date at your house is that you’re already at your house. I had been worried about the danger of having a stranger in my house, but I completely forgot about the whole end-of-the-date-deciding-about-making-out-and-inviting-people-up scene.
Eh, I'm not going to sweat it. I had a really great evening, failed foresight notwithstanding. But maybe next time I’ll save this particular date idea for #3. Okay, maybe just #2.
Beer + Sausage = Love
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Right around the time I found Summer Boy I heard back from a guy I had emailed on OK Cupid some three months earlier. He’d shown up in my matches but hadn’t been online for awhile, and I had apparently emailed him suggesting that if he did come back online to let me know. When he did, I looked back at his profile and couldn’t quite figure out why I had reached out in the first place.
He turned out to be an interesting guy, though, professing to be a Karaoke King, a runner, and the owner of NFL season tickets (sadly not for the Bears). I had mentioned in our conversations that I was heading to Maifest that weekend, the sister event of my most favorite festival in the city, German Fest. He suggested we meet up there to share some delicious brews and if things went well, perhaps I’d give him a polka lesson. Obviously I’d be hoping for a better result than last year’s debacle.
It seemed like a good idea, especially since I was already planning to be there and could always slip into the crowd with friends if it didn’t work out. It wasn’t until the day of that I started to second guess myself.
For starters, Summer Boy and I had spent some time together that morning. Things were going so well with him – I didn’t want to do anything that would throw a wrench in that well oiled machine. I was also pretty sure that The Bowler was going to be serving beer at the festival. I could only imagine how awesome (read: awkward) it would be to buy beer from him, with some new guy, just after I’d ended things with him. Oh right, I’d be drinking all that beer, too. Who knows what I’d feel like saying or doing after the 2nd stein!
I did see The Bowler, with the very first beer purchase I made. He was on the other side of the beer counter and fortunately I saw him with enough time to drop to the ground and hide instead of making eye contact. I’m a lot of things, but mature in front of an ex is not one of them.
I also saw Marathon Guy, blast from last year’s past, sitting with a group of friends. Again, I was quick enough to maneuver myself out of his line of sight. I’m not sure he would have remembered me, but why chance it?
I even got some texts from Summer Boy, who was getting mystery texts from someone and wondered whether I was sending them from someone else’s phone, which I obviously had not.
The only guy I didn’t see was the Karaoke King. He bailed, saying something about the rain forecast and not wanting to get wet on his bike. He would have gotten wet, it flat out down poured for about an hour towards the end of the night, but then he also would have gotten to huddle with me underneath the big tent, sharing a pretzel.
I should have known better! No matter how many guys I run into, the only love match to be found at German fests is bier. And we are a perfect pair.
He turned out to be an interesting guy, though, professing to be a Karaoke King, a runner, and the owner of NFL season tickets (sadly not for the Bears). I had mentioned in our conversations that I was heading to Maifest that weekend, the sister event of my most favorite festival in the city, German Fest. He suggested we meet up there to share some delicious brews and if things went well, perhaps I’d give him a polka lesson. Obviously I’d be hoping for a better result than last year’s debacle.
It seemed like a good idea, especially since I was already planning to be there and could always slip into the crowd with friends if it didn’t work out. It wasn’t until the day of that I started to second guess myself.
For starters, Summer Boy and I had spent some time together that morning. Things were going so well with him – I didn’t want to do anything that would throw a wrench in that well oiled machine. I was also pretty sure that The Bowler was going to be serving beer at the festival. I could only imagine how awesome (read: awkward) it would be to buy beer from him, with some new guy, just after I’d ended things with him. Oh right, I’d be drinking all that beer, too. Who knows what I’d feel like saying or doing after the 2nd stein!
I did see The Bowler, with the very first beer purchase I made. He was on the other side of the beer counter and fortunately I saw him with enough time to drop to the ground and hide instead of making eye contact. I’m a lot of things, but mature in front of an ex is not one of them.
I also saw Marathon Guy, blast from last year’s past, sitting with a group of friends. Again, I was quick enough to maneuver myself out of his line of sight. I’m not sure he would have remembered me, but why chance it?
I even got some texts from Summer Boy, who was getting mystery texts from someone and wondered whether I was sending them from someone else’s phone, which I obviously had not.
The only guy I didn’t see was the Karaoke King. He bailed, saying something about the rain forecast and not wanting to get wet on his bike. He would have gotten wet, it flat out down poured for about an hour towards the end of the night, but then he also would have gotten to huddle with me underneath the big tent, sharing a pretzel.
I should have known better! No matter how many guys I run into, the only love match to be found at German fests is bier. And we are a perfect pair.
Summer Lovin’, Had Me A Blast
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
When we last left our dating heroine (me) she had rid herself of a dud (The Bowler) and found herself a stud (Summer Boy). Not too keen on the effort it took to formally date while blogging about said dating, I went on a break. I didn’t just take the summer off from blogging, though; I freed myself from making any actual relationship decisions as well. It was awesome!
Turns out there’s a market for a lady without an end game, who doesn’t ask herself (or her date) questions about where they see themselves in 5 years or whether they want kids. Turns out you can really enjoy getting to know someone who you find interesting, but know you’ll never see again.
In refusing to entertain the possibility of a future I was able to really enjoy the present. I worried less about how my actions would be taken and instead did exactly what I felt like. Not every decision was a good decision, and navigating the casual relationship world requires a very different skill set than the one I’d been cultivating, but I have no regrets.
I do have some good stories, though, and before summer ends I think a little kiss and tell is in order. Consider the next few posts your online trashy beach novel.
Turns out there’s a market for a lady without an end game, who doesn’t ask herself (or her date) questions about where they see themselves in 5 years or whether they want kids. Turns out you can really enjoy getting to know someone who you find interesting, but know you’ll never see again.
In refusing to entertain the possibility of a future I was able to really enjoy the present. I worried less about how my actions would be taken and instead did exactly what I felt like. Not every decision was a good decision, and navigating the casual relationship world requires a very different skill set than the one I’d been cultivating, but I have no regrets.
I do have some good stories, though, and before summer ends I think a little kiss and tell is in order. Consider the next few posts your online trashy beach novel.
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