My dear Shame Train readers: I’ll admit it. I fucked up. Big time.
I haven’t written because I slipped up, dated someone I shouldn’t have. I promise it will never happen again (or at least I hope not).
I found myself ready to date someone. It was still viciously cold outside, I was going through some job stresses, on top of it all, I hadn’t gotten laid in about three months. In other words, I wasn’t exactly in the position to be thinking clearly (never mind the millions of Jameson shots I was having per day just to get me through everything).
It was a blistering night out and I had already been drinking for over an hour when I met my friend Heather* out at Heavy Woods. To be honest, I remember about the first twenty minutes – seeing her, being happy to see her and meeting her coworker. I remember thinking he was cute in that “I’m a normal kind of guy” kind of way. You know, the kind of guy that you think is okay but isn’t anywhere close to your type nor on your level. Just a normal – nothing in particular that stands out, nothing in particular that turns you on or off. Something that is neither good nor bad in my book, but definitely a take it or leave it situation. I guess the most outstanding feature was that he had a good beard and normal or not I’m definitely a sucker for those, especially with some Jameson in me.
The next morning, I vaguely remember having made out with The Norm but thought nothing of it.
The next night, however, I got a text from The Norm: “Hey, this is the guy you’re dating. Where you at?”
Again I had already been drinking so I replied, “Cobra.” Just as I replied that, he walked in. “Okay,” I thought, “I don’t know what the dating thing is all about but he’s not hideous, I’m drunk and I love kissing while drunk so let’s do this.”
Come to find out that first night at Heavy Woods, while I was shit hammered, I basically said that he and I were dating, that we weren’t to fuck anyone else and that I was his.
Yeah. I did that. I couldn’t quite believe it myself as I had really no recollection of it and no intention of doing such with this guy. And here’s where I fucked up: knowing he wasn’t my type, that it really wasn’t going to go anywhere and that we weren’t on the same level — I went with it. And so did he. So, something that started out as a joke had now become somewhat real.
Of course it didn’t last long. We had a bunch of “real dates” and some silly adventures, but I’m way more wild than The Norm. I mean, he’s a nice guy and I still say hello when I see him (we do live in the same neighborhood, afterall) but nice and normal as a complete identity isn’t exactly for me. Eventually he wanted to have “the talk.” I didn’t even think that was necessary, but he insisted on having it in person – a nice change from most NYC dudes, actually). However, here’s some highlights of this experience and some things I’ve learned:
- Had sex in public. A lot. Learned I had been missing that a bunch. It’s definitely something I like to do with a significant other and I’ll know for next time that I prefer my man not to be able to keep his hands off me.
- When you have a lot of friends (basically everyone) in the neighborhood, it’s best to keep whomever you’re dating to yourself for a while. It’s silly when you bring someone around who’s not the same as you and everyone knows the both of you and are all wondering why the hell you’re with this guy (“no offense, Miz Blitzed, but…”).
- It’s best if you’re gonna take the leap and date someone not on the same level personality-wise that they at least be on the same level sexually. I’ll leave it at that.
- Bartender friends can be some of the most witty, snarky and downright judgmental of peops in your posse. But they are always on your side. Sometimes you just don’t want to hear it from them — but accept their wisdom and knowledge. It can save a lot of time.
If you have a type who you KNOW is your type — don’t talk yourself out of exploring what the two of you could have because of loneliness, boredom or convenience. A type is more than looks — it’s the way they live, the interests they have, their version of cool, their goals in life and their ideals and their maturity level. All those make a type.
Now it’s back to square one of me finding mine. And never again compromising it. I’m at least going to try, okay?
Until next time…
