Reasons

In case it isn't already glaringly obvious, I really suck at dating.

I don't suck at getting laid--that, I am quite skilled at when I want to be--nor do I suck at finding a guy who will stay interested in me for a few days, weeks, maybe even a month if I'm really on my game, before heading off for greener pastures. But in the last 10 years, the longest I've dated any man (oh who am I kidding? boy) has been... three months, maybe? Even that might be a stretch. Long enough to be called a "boyfriend" but not long enough to fall in love or establish any level of lasting trust or commitment

Except maybe The English Ex, who managed to break my heart in a remarkably short period of time, but that was a fluke. Do not date your best friend. Ever. But that's a tale for another day (which I've already told, actually, and would have linked, but couldn't find it in my archives. Sorry.).

So anyway, here I am, trying my hand at this whole insane process once more... and I have absolutely no fucking idea what's going on.

I know you all want to know more about The Contender--or, at least, some of you do--so I'm sorry if it seems like I'm purposely keeping you in suspense or something. I promise that I'm not. But I realized last night as I was trying to fall asleep that I have my reasons for not really talking about him, so, as a sort of consolation prize, I thought I'd talk about those.

First and foremost is the fact that, honestly, there's not all that much to tell. I could tell you what he does for a living, or what colour his eyes are, or that, despite an otherwise clean-cut exterior, he seems to have a predilection for ripped jeans, but how much does that really say about a person?

I see him about once a week, our activities have involved playing pool and watching a movie on my couch, and yes, we've slept together.

The other reason I don't really talk about it is that, to me, talking about it means that I expect it to go somewhere, and in the past, expectations have always led to disappointment. So I try not to have any. Or if I do, I keep them to myself, so at least my disappointment isn't made public.

Call it a self-preservation instinct.

And honestly, I don't know where it's going, or even where I want it to go.

On one hand, he's sweet, attractive, gainfully employed, and does all the things I've wished guys in the past would have done. You know, like return phone calls. I enjoy spending time with him, and appreciate the fact that, like myself, he loves olives and garlic.

I like him. I do. But I'm not infatuated with him. You know, that feeling when you get all warm and fuzzy just thinking about a person? I don't get that. At least, not often. Maybe once a week if I'm feeling particularly sentimental--which, if you've spent any amount of time reading this blog, you will know is not common.

And maybe that's good. Because in the past that sort of blind infatuation has led me to overlook all sorts of glaringly obvious faults with the object of my affection (having a girlfriend, being an alcoholic, having no ambition in his mid 30s), which leads to forming expectations, which, as I already said, leads to disappointment.

And if there's one thing I'm completely and utterly sick of--besides unemployment, the failing economy, and being stressed out about money--it's disappointment.

But by the same token, I miss that excited, fluttery feeling. Good for me in the long run or not, I like it. Is that something that can develop with time? Or if it's not there immediately, will it never be there? And if it's not there, does that mean it isn't right? Am I supposed to feel that way, or is that just the road to a quick burnout and more baggage than I already (clearly) carry?

I don't know.

So I don't talk about it.

Even though by not talking about I've more or less talked about it, still... I'm not talking about it.

At least, not until I know just what the hell it is that I'm talking about.