The Great Debate

Its been a few weeks if not a little over a month that Rebound Babe and I have spending time together.  The good morning texts, to the random photos throughout the day, evening calls to chat about our day, and planning of weekend have been occurring.  At what point does your Rebound Babe start to become your Babe?  I’m not really too sure, but I think we’re hovering right around that mark right now.  The one part of me is absolutely loving the affection and attention… but the other part of me is screaming SLOW DOWN.

It’s been about 3 months since #whiteboy and I broke up, and while I was completely devastated when we ended it, I knew I was going to be ok.  There was a large part of our relationship, especially towards the end, where there wasn’t anything romantic left.  It was pure companionship… but he was my best friend.  So the one half of me that thinks it’s too soon to be developing these feelings towards Rebound Babe, you’re just misplacing the feelings from #whiteboy to the next boy.  But the other part of me is saying, you’ve been alone for almost a year… spread your wings and fly.  So I’ve dove deep into the arms of Rebound Babe and accepted every invitation, welcomed all his love…. and even worse have lied to my girlfriends about the amount of time I’ve been spending with him.  All so I can get my time with him, with no judgement.

Why though?  Why do I care?  Maybe because I know that they’re right.  I need to pump the breaks a bit.  Take it slow, date a little more, enjoy being single, enjoy being just Maureen again.  So I take their advice and and get to the swiping.  As soon as I open the app, I get a notification of a Super Like, and… hey!  He’s actually pretty cute.  So I swipe right and then get to reading his mini bio.  Damn.  He’s kinda already calling people out about making sure they have something interesting to say… or to not say anything at all.  Hmmm.  This guy could be annoying.  Let’s see where this goes.  He mentions that the end of his bio that he is an ENTP.  If you’re not familiar with the Meyer-Briggs Personality Test, I highly recommend taking the quick little quiz to see what you are.

I am an ENTJ (Extrovert-Intuition-Thinking-Judgment) apparently my personality type encompasses only 2% of the world’s population, and it makes me “The Commander”.  Although I know what this means about me, I never thought to include it on a dating app as a method to describe myself.  Since this new prospect and myself are only 1 letter off from one another, I ask him what this ENTP stands for.  To which he send me a link.  The Commander meets The Debater.  This is one part of the description of this personality type, “No one loves the process of mental sparring more than ENTP’s as it gives them a chance to exercise their effortlessly quick, broad accumulated knowledge base, and capacity for connecting disparate ideas to prove their points.”  Yup. This guy loves to talk, and loves to argue.  To which quickly his messages already dive deep into a verbal sparring match.  Intrigued, we swap numbers and continue to chat over texts for the next few days.

Like I mentioned, my feelings are definitely starting to develop for Rebound Babe.  So what does this mean?  I’m probably going to end up ruining this somehow, is what this means.  Sunday night comes and goes and I wake up Monday morning from a text from Rebound Babe at 4am, and he’s just leaving a party.  And suddenly I feel the fuming steam lift up from my chest, and suddenly I am ANGRY.  Like pissed off, some one killed my baby, ANGRY.  All I can think is, “Who the fuck were you with?”, or “Why are you out until 4am?!” So I do the usual, and in pure rebellion I don’t respond to him all morning.  It’s that ridiculous game that we all try to play, of who has the most power.  Those who have the power will not get hurt, right?  It means, I am the one who is dictating where this shall go, or if it all stops here.  Of course, this is what we all like to believe in this stupid game of dating.  So Rebound Babe starts with the texts similar to, “Good Morning Beautiful, I hope you have a great day today.”  To, “Where are you my beautiful Butterfly?” To, “I guess you’re having a busy day.  I hope to hear from you later.’

What’s wrong with me?  Why couldn’t I just talk to him and tell him what upset me.  Instead, what do I do?  I respond to the The Debator and made plans for dinner later that evening.  I mean, why not?  It’s not like I have anything else better to do on a Monday night.  We toss a few ideas back and forth and he then sends a text my way, and asks, “2 questions:  1. Do you mind going Dutch?  2. Are you willing to drive out to my area?”

The one part of me goes take a step back and thinks, “So I guess this isn’t really the type of date that I was looking for.  Maybe I should decline.”  But then the other side of me thinks, “Well, maybe this is a good thing.  At least I can control/limit my now 3 drink minimum, to just 1 cocktail.  And if I’m not having a good time, I can always pop into my car and leave.”  So I agree with the terms and he sends me the address to our destination.

The fact that I don’t fuss much over my outfits or the usual prep that I go through for these dates, makes me take pause.  Granted, I’m still putting thought and effort into every occasion, but I’m not so concerned, or second guessing every aspect.  Is it that I don’t really care about the date?  Or is it that through this process, I am becoming more comfortable with myself and who I am?  I would love to delve deeper into this thought, but maybe I’ll reserve this for another blog topic.

I throw on a relatively easy outfit, nothing that says I’m trying to hard, because after all, it is only Monday… but still casually chic & sexy.  So I go with a leather moto jacket, my favorite crisp white shirt, my Rag & Bone Skinny jeans…. and my latest ultimate find… my green stain floral booties from Zara.  Hair, check. Lipstick, check. Louie V, check. Quick glance in the mirror and out the door.

He picks a restaurant in WeHo, which I’m surprised with since he said he lives in NoHo.   I was expecting to make the trek out to see him, but he decided on something in between the two of us.  He also picks a restaurant that’s fairly simple.  It’s a spot that I usually go to during lunch, not really the date night kinda spot.  But whatever, I’m letting him steer the course.  I get to the restaurant before him, which I absolutely despise. I love being the one who walks up while they wait for me.  As I stand there at the front of the restaurant I pick up my phone and send the location of my whereabouts to my Good Good Girlfiends, and as it sends I look up, and it’s The Debator.  Wow.  Not cute.  I mean… he totally looks like his pictures, but there’s something weird about his face when he makes an expression… or talks… or breathes… or anything.  Oh well, Homie Hug, “Hello”.

We get to the order window, and to my surprise, he goes first.  Doesn’t say give the “Ladies First” option.  He finishes placing his order, and the cashier says, “And for you?”

Me:  Oh, no we’re paying separate.

Cashier:  *SIDE EYE* to The Debator

The Debator: No, it’s ok, I got you.

Me:  Seriously, I got it.

Cashier:  *ANNOYED*

The Debator:  Seriously.  Order.

Now there’s a weird awkwardness that’s left looming.  But I go ahead and order my salmon plate with roasted corn and brussels sprouts.  Grab our table number and take a seat.  At this point of the night is where the usual convo of get-to-know-you chit chat happens.  Or at minimum, “How was your day?”  But none of that really happens.  Instead, his first questions to me is, “So what brings you to Tinder?”

Me:  Wow, we really going there already?  Cocktails are even here yet.  (I laugh because we never ordered any cocktails.)

The Debator:  I mean, yeah, why not?

Me: I suppose the same reason why everyone else is.  Looking to meet people and have a good time.

The Debator:  So, like you’re looking to sleep with every guy you meet?

Me:  Uhhh… That is not what I said.

The Debator: So then what did you mean?

Me:  Exactly what I said, I broke up with my boyfriend a few months ago, and I went on Tinder to meet people, go on dates, have some fun stories to tell… this one won’t be in the “fun” category if it continues like this.  (Laughingly),

The Debator:  Oh wow, so you just ended something.  Ok?  How long and why did you break up?

Me:  4 and a half years, and we broke up because I wanted to get married and have kids.  He did not.

The Debator:  (Pause) Wow, that wasn’t the answer I was expecting.  I thought it was going to be something like, you cheated on him and he found out.

Me:  Not all relationships have to end in such a dramatic manner.  Sometimes relationships just don’t work out.

The Debator:  To me, that excuse just sounds like you didn’t try hard enough.

Now, I’m not going to narrate every aspect of our conversation, but this topic continued on for awhile.  Where everything that I said became something to question, he wanted me to explain why I thought that way and then he argued back why I was wrong.  I mean every weird topic and conversation that shouldn’t be part of a first date was happening.  I remember glancing down at my plate, and I had only finished about half of it, and was utterly exhausted.  And irritated to be completely honest.  I mean, I’ve never met someone who was so argumentative over EVERYTHING.  We even got into a debate over what the difference of roasted corn and barbecued corn was.  Another part of the night, I recall glancing down at my watch and thinking, “Holy Shit, its only been an hour.  When’s an appropriate time to end this date?”

The rest of the evening continues on with debates of the purpose of marriage, why do women care about chivalry so much, what does a man paying for dinner mean, gender fluidity, racism, how people in Orange County are complete snobs (I grew up in OC- regardless of whether or not that statement was true and reflective of me was besides the point).  I mean, you can see where this date is going.  Disasterous.  Clearly, I am not interested in him.  And he is not interested in me.

Eventually I do the, “Ok it’s getting late and it’s Monday, I gotta get going.” To which he agrees and then offers to walk to me to my car.  I tell him, it’s not that big of a deal, it’s just across the street.  But he continues on with me anyway.  When we get to my car, he says, “Cool, well, I hope you get home safely.”

Me: Yeah, if we do this again, we’ll need some cocktails to discuss some less serious topics like abortion or the death penalty.

The Debator:  Oh, I don’t drink.

Me: Ok, bye.  (Slams car door shut)

Wow, what a terrible evening.  I quickly get onto my group chat and tell the girls I’m fine and about to head home.  Brief summary of the nights events as I turn down Santa Monica Blvd to get home.

Why am I putting myself through all of this?  Making meaningless connections and conversations with random ass people on a dating app?  Especially when there is a man who is offering his heart, pure intentions, fantastic conversation, and makes my heart skip a beat every time I see him.  Why am I fighting this connection with Rebound Babe so hard?  I roll into my apartment and take off my super cute booties, and I hear a *knock-knock* text notification, and it’s The Debator telling me that he had a wonderful time tonight, and wanted to do it again.

Clearly we weren’t on the same date.  I drop by phone down as I rip off my jacket and throw on some PJ’s. I hear a faint ringing, annoyed thinking it’s going to be The Debator wanting to chat more about shit I don’t care about, but instead it’s Rebound Babe.  The deep baritone register of his voice is on the other end suddenly gets me on cloud 9, “Hi Mama, I’ve missed you.  How was your day?” The weight of the night instantly is forgotten as we chat for 2 hours about anything and everything.

 

Jason Mamoa -2.0

You get to a certain age, and suddenly you’re constantly in wedding season.   A few years ago I had 3 weddings, 1 bridal shower, an engagement party and 2 1-year-old birthdays to attend… all in 1 year!  Talk about exhausting.  Not necessarily because of how very audibly I heard my credit card say, “Phew!” as I bought gift after gift, after outfit, after Hotel overnight stays, after flight reservations.  The episode of Sex and the City where Carrie registers herself at Manolo Blahnik for choosing to be single has never spoken so clearly to me.  But this post isn’t about the financial aid that I would like to attain to celebrate the life stages of other people’s lives.  It’s about how these life events for other people make you look over your own board game of Life.  If only I roll a 7, then I’ll meet the man of my dreams soon.  If I roll a 5, I’ll get a parking ticket that I’ll forget to pay and will somehow result in getting my car towed and end up in the ER with a broken leg.  I hate comparing my life steps to others, but unfortunately it tends to happen from time to time.

This past weekend was OystaFingas’ wedding in Houston.  So my girlfriends and I couldn’t resist to make this a girl’s trip.  No significant others were allowed.  At least that’s what we wanted.  Unfortunately Sizzler and Carl couldn’t make it due to an engagement party and family being in town.  Although it didn’t seem right that our sextet couldn’t all be together for this beautiful event, we made all made the promises of taking too many pictures, constant IG posts, and Snaps so they wouldn’t feel too FOMO.

Now, I should mention that OystaFingas is about 10 years younger than me.  I’ve always had a very age diverse group of friends ranging from 15 years older to around 10 years younger.  I love the variance of ideas, thoughts and life experiences.  Needlessness to say, this means that all of her friends at the wedding will all be of her similar age range. Not necessarily how young I like to play around with, but we’re all the same age lying down, right?  Anyway, this is the first time that I’ve had the opportunity to go to a wedding while I’ve been single, so I’m excited for what’s to come.  I’ve always been curious to see why so many hook-ups happen during weddings, and if I would also be able to partake in the mating ritual.

What is it about weddings that makes everyone so easy?  Even my parents met at a wedding.  I mean, I guess it worked for them.  They’re about to celebrate their 40th Wedding Anniversary.  Maybe it’s all the “LOVE” that’s in the air.  But I think it’s also the fact that when these life stages occur, everyone takes a look at their own board game of Life and see how they are faring in comparison to their friends.  Here’s my recap, in case you forgot: I just ended my 4 1/2 year relationship that broke down because I wanted a wedding, marriage, 2.5 kids, a dog and Mrs. Buttersworth.  My dream was #whiteboy’s nightmare.  And the only real prospect I am having is Rebound Babe, in which my emotions are starting to develop pretty quickly for him.  I feel like I need to take a step back.  So yes, I’m in a different city.  I’m single. I’m going to a wedding.  Let’s play!

After our flight lands in Houston, J9 and I hop into an Uber to meet DD and her sister at a restaurant.  Of course the first thing I do, is pull out my phone and open Tinder.  I’m excited to see what Houston has to offer, since the last time I visited, #whiteboy and I were thinking of moving here.  And just like that, the quick left and right swipes begin.  I’ve also created a game with it, where I let my GF’s do the swiping and sometimes even let them handle the actual conversations with these boys.  It’s fun to me, kinda like they’re playing match maker to a bunch of boys that they think I should date.  Like the old days when friends actually used to introduce people to their friends.

A few hours go by and we’re wrapping up our first meal and 2 cocktails at a restaurant.  And suddenly I feel a quick vibrate, and a flame pops up on my notification bar.  I thumb down the notification bar, and notice it says, “You’ve been Super Liked!  Swipe to find out by whom.” For those of you who are unaware of how Tinder works, here’s the quick breakdown.  A picture of Homie-Lover-Friend is displayed; if you don’t like him/her you swipe left; if you do like him/her then you swipe right.  You’re only allowed to communicate with someone if you both happen to swipe right.  However, with a “Super Like” you allow the other person to let them know that you are interested without them also swiping right on you.  And there you go, swipe right enough times, look cute enough, and WALA…. one night stand.  Maybe.  Anyway, so of course, I was excited to see who this mystery person could be.  I open the app and take a glance. Ew.  Is all I can think.  Close down the app, and commence convo with my babes.

En route to the hotel, I get a few more buzz-buzz notifications, and they are all Super Likes!  This is amazing!  I don’t think I’ve ever had this much attention back home.  If I’m fairly active on Tinder, then I get MAYBE 1 Super Like a week. But within an hours time, I think I’ve received about 5.  I squeal to my GF’s about the amount of action that I’m receiving.  Unfortunately, every single one of them is gross.  So there’s no way that I would swipe right.   But it’s still exciting to see them all come through.  Self Confidence has boosted and my Ego is now through the roof.

The weekend continues as do the Super Likes of which only a handful warrant a response.  We decide to run an experiment and respond with just, “Tryna Fuck?” to see how many respond back.  And little to our surprise everyone responds back with, “Yes!  Where and When?”  I of course don’t want to do this dirty deed with any of these men, but it’s still fun to play.

As we are shuttled to the Church for OystaFingas’ ceremony, J9 and I are bored so we pull out Tinder and begin our usual game.  Not a whole lot of prospects, but one pops out.  Damn, he looks pretty goddamn sexy.  He has that ethnic, dark, beard, handsome thing going for him.  And just-kinda-barely he reminds me of Jason Mamoa.  My ultimate husband, fantasy, masturbation guy.  So of course, I swipe right, hoping for a connection.  The ceremony turns to the reception and my GFs and I make our rounds.  And just to my initial prediction, all the boys here are right around 25 and under.  Not usually that big of a deal, but 25 AND not really attractive.  No thanks.  So while I’m waiting for my dinner course to arrive, I open up Tinder and notice a few more Super-Likes, but also notice that Jason Mamoa 2.0 and I have matched!  Pitter-pat of a heart beat begins, and I’m excited for this connection.  We begin to chat and eventually make plans for a late night rendezvous.

As the clock approaches midnight, Jason Mamoa 2.0 sends me a message to see if I’m still game to meet.  Duh! I dash to the room to change out of my evening gown and into some jeans.  Holy shit… the butterflies followed me from LA to Houston!  My nerves are going haywire and these wings can no longer be taped down with additional shots of tequila.  Quick text to my girls and I tell them to get to the room ASAP.  DD barges in the door to see what’s wrong… and I tell her that I’m going to meet Jason Mamoa.  I wish I could remember half of what she was telling me, but I’m about a million cocktails deep and nervous as fuck.  Am I really about to try to have a one night stand in a strange city?  DD practically kicks my ass into gear and gets me out the door.

The usual shit bounces around in my head as I get closer to the bar.  I send out the address to where I’m going so my GFs know where to start the body hunt.  I walk slowly around the bar, and don’t notice my tall sexy giant anywhere.  I walk to the outdoor patio, and walk around some more.  Still no signs of my baby.  I try to do another loop, and still don’t seem to notice him any where.  The insecurities start to develop, and all I can think is, “Great, he saw me, and thought gross.”  Then I get a *knock-knock* notification and it’s my Love saying, I’m in the back patio.  So I walk over and see the same guy I walked past 2 times prior.  This is NOT my baby.  OMG.  What happened to fantasy that I was playing over and over in my head?  I was hoping he was going to be able to carry me across the room, and slam me up against a wall and just start making out with me.  But instead, here is. Jason Mamoa -2.0.  EW.  He’s smoking a cigarette, relatively short and skinny, and has an incredibly thick Curry accent as he tells me briefly about his day.  I don’t know where this came from, but the loud speaker in my head is blaring out, “ABORT! ABORT! ABORT!”

The only thing I can think to say is,”I’m sorry, I really have to use the restroom. Do you mind?” Luckily there’s a long enough line at the Ladies Room, and a few girls who are all chit-chatting with their GFs.  I interrupt one group quickly, and say, “Excuse me girls, I really need some help.”  I explain to them my situation and I remember telling them, “He looks EWWIEE!!” Who says that word?  Apparently drunk Mo does.  “What do I do?????”  I ask them.  And in unison, all the girls say, “LEAVE!”  I dash out the door and run around the first little corner I could find and quickly pull up Uber to take me back to the wedding.

So much for my spontaneous weekend getaway to get laid.  I’m really hoping that I don’t start creating bad dating ju-ju for myself with all the antics I’ve been up to lately.  I get back to the wedding, and it’s now moved from the ballroom to the hotel lobby bar.  As I walk in, the girls and some of the guys who knew what I was doing yell out, “Heeeeey!!!!!  How did it go???!??”  Considering I was only gone 40 minutes, there obviously wasn’t much time to do much of anything except for leave my self-respect at the bar.

The next morning as I look for good barbecue restaurants to try, I check Tinder one more time.  And notice a few more Super Likes have popped up so I decide to start screenshot their images.  Here’s just a few of the ones that I was able to capture in about 24 hours time.  I hope you enjoy the photos, as I will never be able to fulfill my Jason Mamoa fantasy.

 

The Good on Paper Guy

When we girls make our wish list of what we’re looking for in a man, it sounds a little something like this:

– respectful
– handsome
– funny
– educated
– faithful
– ambitious
– has money
– sensitive
– thoughtful
– clever
I’m sure that this list can just continue on and on and on. But why is it that when Said man appears… there’s no spark? There’s no YOWZA! Or desire to touch him.  It makes me first think that… maybe there’s something wrong with me.  But the other side of me thinks that maybe my wishlist is completely wrong.  And that the things that I THINK I want… aren’t what I want at all.  Maybe there’s an underlying side of me that wants the loser boyfriend who couch surfs and makes minimum wage for the rest of life. Or the boyfriend who says I’m the only one, and the tomorrow night he’s  saying the same thing to Susan.  Or the boyfriend who’ll never ever commit.  Or the boyfriend who doesn’t know how to control his drinking, drugs, gambling, or video game habit.

So this has made me want to do a little research on what it is that attracts us to one another.  Multiple articles from multiple sources such as Huffington Post, Men’s Health or Psychology Today all have similar stories ranging from physical appearance, aroma even the pitch of voice that draw the opposite sex towards one another.  The most interesting fact that I found was how a women can change her idea of what she finds attractive depending on where she was in her cycle, and even more so how much of that can change if you are on hormonal birth control.  Essentially depending upon which a women is looking for:  a women will chose a man of “better genetic stock” when it comes to trying to satisfying a need.  Unfortunately, this also means that they will probably treat you less desirably and will not be a good paternal investment.  Or, when looking to nest, a women will often chose a man with lower “genetic stock”, aka softer, more feminine features.  Essentially it’s saying that a woman will choose to settle down with someone she finds slightly less attractive than her hot, hot next-door neighbor.

This has also made me think back to many of the men I “dated” and compared them to my ex-boyfriends.  Did this research ring true?  Actually.  Yes!  None of my boyfriends were at first glance, HOT.  They were all the “Once you get to know them…” guys.  Or the “But he’s so funny…” guys.  Or the “He treats me really well…” guys.  All the guys I “dated” kinda fell into that “better genetic stock” category: tall, dark, handsome, strong jawline, muscular build, etc.  I hate to think that I am just like the rest… and I fall in line to a statistic like every other basic bitch.

This leads to me the point of this post.  So remember Brunch Dude who I flaked on?  Well, in my boredom this week I decided to reach back out and see what he was doing.  I casually sent a text something like, “Plans later?  Wanna go out for Taco Tuesday?”  He replies back almost immediately and says that he’ll be home a little later, but would love to.  Immediately after I get confirmation of my evening plans, I hop onto Tinder, in my usual re-investigative approach and peep some photos and review the little bio.  As I scroll through all the meaningless conversations, in search of ours… I realize that it’s no longer there!  I’m curious if he un-matched me because I flaked on him.  Or did he remove himself from Tinder completely.   Regardless of his decision, I’m pissed.  Great!  I don’t even remember WTF this guy looks like, except I remember that he was holding a camera in a lot of his pics.  Was he fat?  Skinny?  Tall?  How did he dress?  I really couldn’t remember a goddamn thing.  Which is making me regret making plans with this guy at all.  To which I lounge around the apartment, not even trying to give 2 Fucks about the outfit I’m supposed to wear tonight.  Scratch that.  I’m not giving 1 Fuck.  Which, as you all should know by now, means a lot.

He texts me around 9 and says, “Let’s meet across the way at the Hotel Bar.” I literally throw on a whatever outfit, which barely matches/goes together.  But I’m curious if it has that LA-Hipster-DGAF look, or it it literally looks like This-Bitch-Just-Rolled-Out-Of-Bed look.  Which honestly… is kinda what I did.  As I make my way across the street from our same apartment, I text my Good Good Girlfriends and tell them what’s going on.  They laugh at me as they can sense my lack exhilaration for the date. What’s wrong with me?!  I literally complain that I haven’t gone on any dates, and then when one arises, I’m bored before it starts.  As I wait for the light to signal “walk”, I glance over and see Brunch Dude half-way down the crosswalk making his way towards me.  All I can think is, “Yup, not at all what I remember his pictures looking like.”  We greet each other with a quick hug, and at that moment the light signals our safety to walk across.

The hotel bar is it’s usual Posh, Modern ambiance, which I love.  There’s something sexy about hotel lobby bars.  I’m not sure if it’s all the strangers in one room trying to socialize and get out of their loner existence locked up in their room.  Or if it’s a feeling that you get reminiscing about being on vacation.  Regardless, I love hotel bars.  Anyway, Brunch Dude and I make our way over to the lobby bar, and he takes charge by walking slightly ahead and leading the way.  He selects 2 chairs at the end of the bar, and pulls out the stool so I can easily sit in, and checks under the bar top to see if there’s a place to sling my purse.  That’s a new one for me, I didn’t think men realized that we looked for that the moment we sat down.  Ok, BD… you get 1 point there.  He greets the bartender and asks for a menu as I finally take a moment to peep his outfit.  Canadian tuxedo (with varying shades of blue denim), jeans slightly ripped/distressed, Patterned Shirt with a cool design and color scheme, NY baseball hat, and Dunks.  OK, BD, OK… you got some flavor.  Maybe there’s another point for you.

He makes small convo about the feel of the hotel, as we glance over the drink menu and chat about our favorite type of liquor.  Bourbon for him; and of course, Tequila for me.  He orders both of our drinks, and I’m a little impressed by the bourbon’s that he’s asking to make his Manhattan up.  Hm…. it’s been a while since I’ve been out with a guy who knows how he likes his cocktails.  Ok… one more point for you.

Our night goes on pretty fluidly, with no break in good conversation.  He’s eloquent in how he speaks, well traveled, open-minded, definitely seems educated. Is very thoughtful in how he converses, which is a little of a relief!  Most people I meet these days don’t quite know how to have a conversation.  Usually its like FuqBoi and his random ramblings of nonsense.  But this guy takes the time to tell great, descriptive stories that are captivating.  And then makes sure to ask questions about myself or how it could relate to what he just told.  BD tells me that he just got back from a 6-week adventure traveling all throughout Africa, describing to me about swimming with sharks, and taking all day treks to get to the top of an active volcano.  I’m mesmerized.  This hasn’t happened to me in a while.  There’s a few more points for you.

As I laugh and enjoy my time with him, he laughs as well, and throws out a litmus test, and reaches his hand out and touches my leg.

I don’t quite shudder.  But there’s definitely no sizzle of electricity.

I try not to make it a big deal, and continue on with our conversation, with no reciprocation of affection.

As I’m telling a story, the thoughts inside my head are racing and ping-ponging back and forth.  Glancing at his face, and I am seeing 100% no attraction to him, all those points he gained are now in the negative.  I want to say it has something to do with his eyes.  There was a yellow-ish tint to them.  Almost like he has been sick, or took a huge bong-toke right before he left to come meet with me.  I’m trying not to show my disinterest, but he’s really funny, and a great conversationalist.  All I can think was, “Damn, I hope we stay friends.” and “I really have to hook this guy up with one of my friends.  He’s too good of a guy, one of my friends has to date this guy… just not me.”

We end the night slightly early, and make our walk across the street to go home.  And I notice that he makes every effort to touch the cross-walk signals and makes sure that I’m walking on the inside of the street… a lot of that gentleman charm that I honestly don’t see very often anymore.  Damn!  Why can’t I be attracted to you?  We get to our gate and I give him the un-sexy Homie-Hug goodnight, tell him that I had a great time and good-night.  He wishes me the same and we part ways to our own towers.  Again, all I can think is damn… what a great guy.  Who can I hook him up with?

Premature L-jaculation

I remember when I was with #whiteboy, we would often be bored and were constantly looking for things to do.  Almost like we were outcast-ed from our friends because we were a couple.  Not necessarily because we were the obnoxious couple with the constant PDA… but I think possibly just because we were a couple.  So we had to find activities to do with one another, which I loved… no complaints here.  But I definitely remember there being a lull in our social engagements.

However now, in this #SingleLife… I notice how quickly my social calendar has been filled up.  Most of it is by my doing, often times double booking on days.  Possibly because I don’t want to feel the loneliness creep in making me miss the comfort of my DVR and #whiteboy nights.  Which to be completely honest… I am missing him quite a bit.  I’m not too sure why, considering Rebound Babe has been supplying me with more affection and attention than I expected.  But maybe this topic should be discussed on another post.

This past week I was inundated with a hectic work week that didn’t allow the Mo-Time that I need to feel complete and whole.  The time that I need to work out, veg out in front of the tv, compile my thoughts together to write a decent post, or to read a couple more poems from The Dead Emcee Scrolls.  On top of the busy work week, for the weekend I had scheduled 2 concerts, shopping at the Rose Bowl flea market, 2 dates and city bike ride.  Needless-to-say, a few things fell off, the most important being my sleep.  I told myself this time around in my #SingleLife, I would put myself first, and to never let my friends fall off.  And I’ve been struggling to try to find the balance of all of it.  All the while, I’m still actively trying to meet new boys on what ever flavor-of-the-week dating app I chose to be on.  I think I may be doing just a bit too much.

I had scheduled to meet a new boy (again, not even name worthy on here) for a Saturday brunch.  Am I attracted to him?  Ehhhh.  He Aiight.  I feel like all I want is some company, conversation and attention.  So I’m not even really being picky about the dates I chose. Plot twist:  he lives in my same apartment complex.  Ew.  I know.  You should never shit where you eat.  However, I already gave the guy my phone number before we established this.  Come Saturday morning, I roll over to pull the covers over my head, as again, it’s way to bright in my apartment. The pounding in my head rings a little too true of the fact that I’ve been over-doing it.  After last night’s concert, my best friend, Kimba and I decide to go bar hopping around Hollywood.  Leading to too many drinks that brings this hangover to it’s full light and some violent midnight puking.  I’m definitely not in any shape to try to put on coat of mascara or try to impress a boy, who I’m not even really impressed by.  With every intention of flaking on the dude… I send out a quick “Good Morning” text to see if we would still be on for lunch.   He doesn’t reply back right away to which I’m thankful.  5 minutes later I get a knock-knock text notifications and it’s Cover Girl hitting me up to see if I’m game for a shopping expedition.  Duh.  Bye Boy. As I hop into my car, I get a call from a number I don’t recognize, so of course I don’t answer, realizing later that it was Brunch Dude. Oops.  I’ve gotten a little too comfortable flaking on these boys recently, that I’m curious if I’m setting into motion some negative dating Karma in my future.

Originally I planned for a double-date-Saturday.  Brunch Dude in the morning.  Go home sleep.  And then evening date plans with Rebound Babe.  Unfortunately the bad friend in me, didn’t realize/think about trying to plan something fun Cover Girl since it was her birthday.  Oops.  So of course, cancelling all my plans with my boys to hang with my girl became the schedule for my Saturday.  The cancelling of my plans with Rebound Babe sets him off, and he immediately expresses his disappointment with the onslaught of a guilt trip.  I recognize the play.  Purely because it’s the same ball I throw when I’m trying to get it back into my court.  I apologize incessantly, and the promise of, “Please let me make it up to you” again exits my mouth.  It appears like I’m repeating the same mistakes from FuckYeah, I guess a girl doesn’t learn her lesson. The guilt trip texts continue through out the night as my trio of Good Good Girlfriends make our way though the City of Angels.

Sunday morning arises… and somehow through my old lady hungover state, I manage to convince Rebound Babe to come up to LA and take care of me. Damn, I’m good. However, he insists that we eat first and that he’ll swoop me up.  I Yelp to see what’s the best local pizza joint, and decide that the only thing that will help to settle my upturned stomach is some hearty Chicago Deep Dish Pizza! The silver Mercedes chariot awaits me as make my stumble down the street and hop in.  Glancing over at Rebound Babe, he gleams a smile at me that makes me forget that my head is literally in a vise.  With both hands he cups my face and gently presses his lips against mine.  What is it about his kisses that draw me to him?  How can something as simple as a kiss keep me coming back for more? It’s like a freshly baked chocolate molten lava cake.  Sweet, warm, delicious.  He turns onto Sunset Blvd and places his hand along the inside of my leg.  The warm of his hand acts as a barrier to shelter me from the whole world, and the vise around my head is slowly being turned lefty-loosey.

We park a few blocks away from the restaurant and begin our walk over.  Since we both are commiserating in our hungover states, we can barely walk together in unison as we usually do.  Taking off beat steps, our arms sway in the opposite direction and in every other step, our hands nervously bump each other.  There’s a pause in the sway each time, as if we don’t know whether or not to take hold of each others hands.  How strange this feeling is. Not 10 minutes ago, I felt as if there was no other place I would rather be.  But now, in the sunlight for all to see, I’m nervous about displaying our affection towards one another.  Which makes me believe and think that maybe I’m not ready for how quickly Rebound Babe is sharing his affection towards me.  Or, how uncomfortable that I am with publicly displaying the affection towards any man that is not my #whiteboy.

As we sit in the restaurant and sip on our cider and beers, the usual playful banter begins.  And of course, the fact that I cancelled our plans from the night prior comes up. He continues to poke fun, and makes bullet points of all the ways that I can try to make it up to him. We laugh at the ridiculousness of his requests, and he says, “It’s ok Momo… I still love you.”

Major loud PAUSE.

Uhhhh.

Is this just a friendly playful comment?  Or is he honestly trying to tell me something?  I of course, do not reply or even address the comment.  I take another sip of my cider and change the topic.

Later that evening we’re in bed doing what we do. And in that slow sensual dance that he does so well, in between thrusts, he whispers something like, “I love… “, then a quick pause, “the way you feel.”

What is it with all this LOVE talk?  Is he actually trying to confess the feelings that he’s had for me all these years?  Is he misplacing his love from his ex-fiance to the next girl? Is he saying what he needs to say just to get what he wants from me?  I really have no idea.  But it’s definitely way too soon for all this talk.  Even if we’ve known each other for 7 years… this is just a little premature for me.

Addicted to The Feels

The convenience of a quick swipe right and a connection being made is almost a little too convenient.  It’s amazing how the addiction forms so easily. Third alarm goes off in the morning, yawn, flip over, grab phone to check text messages, group chats, calendar to see where I’m supposed to be today… and then I check for any new tinder connections and messages.  Not only do I crave to read the memes that I missed the night prior to get my girlfriend fix in, but now I seem to yearn the attention of the possibilities of the winks and hopes of a cocktail for the evening.  I craftily juggle conversations between 3-4 guys that range from convos that would be the equivalent of a modern day pen-pal… to the sex conversations that undoubtedly will arise.  I’m amazed how quickly I became desensitized to this entire process.  I mean, I dedicated an entire blog post about how strange it was that men were so quick to send dick pics… come a few weeks later, I too have dove deep into dick pic pool.  God, how basic of me.

All the while, the memory(ies) of Rebound Babe and our Sunday rendezvous remains emblazoned in my head.  Almost as if I can still feel the weight of his body lying on top of mine.  Like when you get back into bed and under the covers and you can still feel the warmth or heat on your legs.  As I try to recapture the memories and replay them in my mind in slow motion so I can relive the moment, I think about inviting him back over.  Exactly what I am trying to achieve here?  Is it really just the physical?  Is it that I need the affection? Or am I playing with this boy’s emotions and just using him.  I honestly don’t really know.

I start my day today, as I normally do.  Coffee, work emails, check my calendar and get ready for the day.  I usually only take a few moments to shower, put make up on, and fix hair… but as always I take the bulk of my time trying to find the perfect outfit to where I feel empowered.  I think many women, or at least a lot of my good-good-girlfriends, hate this part of the day.  Standing in their closets with just a bra and panties on looking at what shade of black they will wear today.  But not me, as I stand in my closet in my underwear, I usually have at least one shoe on my right foot, and I think to myself, “What do you want to tell the world today?” Putting on skirt after dress after top, I make the decision between my Power corporate garb, or the new vintage Chloe skirt that I found thrifting a few weeks ago.  In these past few weeks between restarting this blog and reading the poems in The Dead Emcee Scrolls, has unearthed a faint brushstroke of confidence as I remember who Maureen is.  The unapologetic, take over the world, Maureen.  The Maureen who always knew how to pave her own path.  The Maureen that always knew what she wanted.  I’m slowly starting to remember who this girl is.  And without question, the second that the zipper slid up to show the curves of my hips, I knew… this would be Maureen’s day in the vintage Chloe.

Entering in the destination into the corporate car, I get a *knock knock* text notification and it’s Rebound Babe wishing me a beautiful day and wanted to know what I had planned.  I tell him that I’ll be heading kind of in his direction, to which he tells me that he too will be in the same god-forsaken city as I would be around lunchtime.  There’s a warmth and electricity that sparks up my body as I hope that we’re going to see each other today.  He tells me that we’ll play by ear and hopefully we’ll be able to grab a quick bite together.  The giddiness in me festers like I’m about to see my new crush during study-hall.  All I can think is, I’m glad I wore a cute outfit today that shows off my firm ass that I’ve been doing a billion squats and lunges for.

We both pull into the parking lot at the same time, and feel the electricity pulsate through my body as we meet and greet in a warm hug.  It’s 90 degrees out and I can feel the heat of his body escape from beneath his shirt, which he refuses to let up on our firm embrace.  I’m curious what is it about us that holds this animalistic attraction towards one another, even after all these years.  All I want to do is grab his beard and kiss those luscious lips, but instead, as if with habit, he puts his hand my hip and guides me into the restaurant and we walk in unison as if to the beat of our own song.

I’m not sure what to make of my feelings and how my body responds to Rebound Babe. Its funny how the nervous butterflies take flight for most boys… but their wings remain steady and hold me above ground when I’m near him. Almost as if there’s a protective shield that he casts that says, “Just be you boo.” Is it because this is familiar territory?  Or it because in my head I know the limitations and expectations of what we are to one another.  Conversation volleys back and forth with minimal effort but with full content.  We easily dip into each other food to try and taste what the other ordered, without having to mention, “Yeah, that’s vegan, you can eat that.”   I forgot how easy it is to dine with someone without crazy & ridiculous food restrictions.  Between bites of my spicy tuna, I catch him looking at me.  Its an intense gaze, as if he is trying to soak up every angle to be able to cast a polaroid of me behind his eyes later this evening when he’s lying in bed.  The 14-year old girl in me blushes various shades of flattery, as I take my gaze away from him.  What happened to that Power Maureen that got dressed this morning?  I need to Channel my inner Chanel!

Thinking back into rebound times prior… I wonder why we never got past this point.  It’s strange how hard we both “love” in the moment. As if we both know how fleeting our time together is.  So we make the most of these moments with no expectations, and give full-fledge, badge of honor kind of passion.  The engulfing, intoxicating, no-one else in the room, you’re all the matters, kind of passion. We’re like 2 fishes creating a ripple in a stream, enjoying the ride while it lasts.  Or maybe because we’re both only capable, at this moment, for the superficial attention that we need to feel like humans.  We’re like 2 heroin addicts, coming together every time we need to feel The Feels.

Later that night, as I take another tape down to replay a video of our love fest from this weekend, I hear another *knock-knock* text notification come through.  And it’s a new boy (who’s so new, I can’t even come up with a good name for him yet) asking what I’m doing tonight.

 

The Return of Rebound Babe

I wake up this morning to a tickle of a beard running up the middle of my back which ends in a gentle kiss on my neck.  Blink.  Why is it so bright in here?  Blink.  I then feel him press his warm body against mine. Blink. Blink.  What happened last night? I realize I’m naked and turn around to face Rebound Babe. Kissing continues as we go in for another round.

The memories of the night prior finally begin to make their way back into my head.  I told myself that this shouldn’t happen again.  And I was very solid in my decision that it wouldn’t happen.  Yet here we are again. Rebound Babe and I have known each other for a few years.  We dated once, and it was shortly after he had ended his long term relationship.  I knew that I was just his rebound babe.  I should have known better getting my emotions involved knowing that he just ended a relationship.  I mean, honestly, where could it really go? But after a few months of what I thought was building a relationship, he suddenly ghosted. I just didn’t get it.  We took a little weekend getaway and when we got back, he was gone. My heart was crushed.

Since he was part of a circle of friends I had, I would randomly run into him, he/I would reciprocate likes on Instagram, or show up at the same shows and concerts throughout the years.  I also found out that he got back with his girlfriend, so I guess it all makes sense.  Then a few years later, after I ended a relationship, I found out that Rebound Babe broke up with his girlfriend again.  So I reached out, and this time, he became my rebound babe.  So he started showing up at my bar, and we almost picked up right where we left off.  That time though, I think WE BOTH knew what it was… companionship and sex.  And that was it.  I went my own way eventually and so did he.  Shortly after, I heard that he proposed to his ex-girlfriend.  So I stopped communication out of respect for their relationship, and this was also around the time that I met #whiteboy.

It’s almost as if there’s a signal that’s let out to all the Ghosts of Our Ex-Fucks the moment you’re single again.  However, for whatever reason this time we both just so happened to end out relationships again at the same time.  It started with an increase of likes on my Instagram posts, which turned into comments, which turned into DMs.  I knew all too quickly where this was going.  He then asks to take me out for dinner, which I declined.  I tell him that I was open to hanging out with him as a friend and nothing more.  I didn’t like our track record of every time we had an empty moment, we were back in each others arms and beds.  We have similar interests, enjoy the same music and always have a good time with one another. So what’s the harm in just being friends, right? Who knows, maybe we are finally on the same wavelength because he actually agrees with my terms.

We make plans this weekend to go to a show. Since I was adamant on keeping us completely platonic this time, I invite EasyBreezy to come to the show with us.  The 3 of us bop all around town with drinks always in hand.  Ending the evening at my favorite dance spot where we all continue to dance the night away with even more drinks. He’s an absolute gentleman who holds open doors for my girlfriend and I; he won’t let us pay for anything for the entire evening (which was completely unnecessary); gives me all the space to cut a rug and battle it out with ReRun; and in a perfect moment knows when to pop in and dance close.  The memories of how easy it is to hang out with him start to creep in as my booze-filled eyes start to gaze at him in a familiar lighting.  And now, the next thing I know is we are in bed, naked.

There’s something so soothing and comfortable being around Rebound Babe.  He carries himself with this humble confidence that I feel like makes him all the more sexy. He’s a musician, with a beard, and a big dick.  What’s not to love?  We roll around in the sheets and switching from big spoon, little spoon, and being completely intertwined dozing in and out of sleep throughout the day.  He lightly kisses each of my eyelids to wake me up and whispers to me, “Open those eyes, I want to see all of your beauty.”  He always knows the right things to say, which I’d like to believe isn’t him spitting game.  It could be my naivete,  my blissful ignorance that allows me to think this way, or that the oxytocin has now clouded my judgement.  But I really don’t care.  I’ve been so neglected for all these years, that I am going to soak up whatever love and attention comes my way.  And right now coming this way, is Round 4.

My Rock, My Shoulder, My Sword

Just about this same time last year I told you how I was having difficulty with my new sense of “freedom” and that I needed to find a new posse of girlfriends to mimic what I had before I moved to The City of Angels.  There’s something about your original crew that will always guide you to front of the line, because Mo doesn’t wait in lines… and all at the same time will be quick to kick in the ass when you ain’t acting right.  There’s no sugar sprinkling or bumpers up along the bowling lane.  The strength of these women is something to be admired, and the fact that the 3 of us couldn’t be more different makes this trio the power of what it is.  I couldn’t be more grateful to have these women in my life.

I’m a spiritual person- but not in that tree hugging, patchouli wearing, non-armpit shaving type- more so that I believe when you do right by yourself, these good acts will radiate in golden hues onto the rest of my surroundings.   Of all the fucked up things I’ve done, said, connived, conspired and wished upon in my darkest of days…. the fact that I am lucky enough to have the girlfriends I have around me… my life couldn’t be more complete.  If this is the cosmos trying to tell me, “Girl…. you haven’t been fucked proper in about a year… let me give you this one thing” so all the moons, stars, suns, universes and perfect outfits aligned….. and somehow the 3 of us just so happen to be single again at #thesamedamntime.

I realize that this blog is supposed to be about 1. online dating 2. the boys I meet 3. one night stands 4. building something with a potential SO… but sometimes its about the growth & realizations that happens during the in-betweens.  And just as much as I like to brag about my sexual conquests and the number of orgasms I had one night (which I hope happens a lot more frequently to make up for some lost time), I feel its necessary to pay homage to the the babes who consistently support, and provide guidance through the dark days.  And FUCK YOU… this is my blog… so Imma say what the FUCK I wanna talk about. So I’ll go into describing the curvature of next boi’s dick soon.  That I can promise!

But back to my sentimental moment as I enjoy a a vodka-st.germaine-rosemary cocktail.  *Ahem* As I was saying…. it’s about the the growth & realizations that happens in this single phase… and where we are trying to get to.  We must remind ourselves to never compare our love-lives, or lack-of-love lives to people who are in these steady relationships.  It’s like they have this fast-track pass at Disneyland to get what their heart desires… while you’re at the ATM trying to withdraw a $20 and the asshole tells you that you have insufficient funds.

ME:  Yeah, but can’t you just withdraw it from my savings??

ATM MACHINE: No girl…. all tapped out, I told you that that the last time.

ME:  What the fuck?  You keeping log on my desperation?!

It’s in those moments when you’re willing to accept a non-sufficient funds fee for 5 minutes of satisfaction that you question WTF you’re even doing with yourself.  The Ghosts of  Ex-FuqBoi’s Past somehow can sense when you’re in your most vulnerable and you get the text of “Hey”… and suddenly your world is turned right side up?  What?!

How is it that these insecurities even develop past it’s tadpole phase?  All I can say is at one time or another, you’re either The Rock, The Shoulder or The Sword to your Good-Good-Girlfriends.  And if you’re lucky enough you can find a tribe in which each one of you are able to be one of those figures when its needed most… hold on to those girls. Because we’ve all needed a guidepost of what I want to embody, the shoulder to cry on when we are at our weakest, and the sword who will slash into every tire of who fucked with my girl.  This post is dedicated to my one my and only Dreds & EasyBreezy. Without you, I don’t know where I would be.  And I never want to know what this life would be without you in it.