Dear beloved readers,
Sometimes I wonder what kind of joke the universe takes me as. Seriously, it is Friday, I waited all week for this glorious moment as I finally have exciting news to share with you guys, finally a decent post in the making and yet, here I am, watching Meg Ryan movies, fighting a fever and trying to heal my throat with all the cough drops I can find. It sucks, but I will try to push past it and go on with this one anyways – just a disclaimer, if I don’t make sense, it’s the cough syrup.
I am so thankful for the lovely way you guys have been dealing with me and being just so patient and kind, seriously I cannot express my gratitude. So this past week, I was trying to figure out a way to truly thank you guys for this past few weeks of endless depressing posts here, and I figured, I’d get in some trouble.
It’s funny, I’ve been going on dates since I am 14 – 14 pretending to be 16, but still. And I don’t know how to put it, but my 14 years old self was a little bit…more outgoing than my 20 years old self. She could drink a Martini like no one else and she knew how to do this flickering thing with her eyes that all the men she has ever been out with could only describe as “eyes impossible to say no to”. Also, 14 years old me loved a good cliché.
I think it’s safe to say that you guys are well aware that I happen to have a PhD in all things Tinder related, I am your modern day Tinderella, or at least I used to be. As you guys know by know, I only let the Tinderella out when in New York and in the mood for finding the danger that once was truly the love of my life. But when back home, I am pretty chill and dare I say not ever in the mood to go through the Tinder deal – that consists on random men hitting on you with the most ridiculous pickup lines and a lot of ghosting.
I cannot come here and trash-talk Tinder though – it has granted me a lot of things like best friends, great dates and awfully-amazing stories. But, it’s safe to say I’ve been pretty over it since I came back from the city last July. Every time I am not in New York I seem to have it pretty clear in my mind that I am not the kind of girl who wants to be a Tinderella. There’s nothing wrong with being one, as I was for so long, but I came to the conclusion that I was more into the idea of feeding my ego than actually enjoying going out with people, which is the main purpose of the app.
Until last Friday, when I went to college basically only to get coffee and Aria came running my way with the biggest smile ever and said something so fast I think it wasn’t even words just a ramble made no sense at all. After telling her to take a deep breath, she told me, rather yelled, that she had just discovered the best thing ever. And the best thing ever was yet another dating app, and in her words “Soooo much better than Tinder”.
Right away I told her exactly what I just wrote you guys, that ain’t my thing anymore and I am more than cool with that. She was a bit upset for a second and then proceeded to go on and on to why this was the best dating app ever, and listen, I am not the one to be persuaded, but when she said the word “exclusive”, I guess something in me decided to give it a shot. The app was called Inner Circle, and for one to get in, they had to be invited by someone who was already in, and that somehow, felt extremely sexy to me. Plus I really needed to get out of that funk I was last week, and the week before that, and the other one as well…
So I did what since then, I’ve been calling one of the worst decisions I’ve ever made, I went ahead and downloaded it. The whole app was weird to learn how to use, but I figured it was only my brain hating the idea and the change from Tinder, as even though not a Tinder person anymore, still devoted to the app who proportioned me years of experience and crazy dates. But I ended up learning how to use it pretty fast and figuring out that albeit exclusive, that didn’t necessarily mean the people in there were better than the ones on Tinder. If anything, all men resembled Kens and Trump supporters – you know the look – but I figured that I couldn’t judge the books by the covers and if anything, I should try something new as I only seem to be into the bad kind – and since I couldn’t tell for sure they were Trump supporters, I couldn’t assume they were bad just by their looks.
When I come to think about not judging things by first impression, I realize my intuition about them are hardly ever wrong. For instance, last Monday I decided to order Chinese food from a rather questionable place and safe to say that by the menu pictures I figured it would’ve been a bad idea, but like everyone in life, sometimes I just gotta take risks and, to put it bluntly, be a dumb bitch. So alas, safe to say that when it comes to the guy I matched on the Inner Circle, the situation was pretty damn similar to the Chinese food one.
Here’s the thing, I hate feeling like I am wasting my time, and when I gave him my number, let’s just say that after half a dozen of texts, I knew we would never ever work out. Plus, I was still pretty confused what was the deal of the app, if it was meant for people to just hook up or date date. I was pretty tense, but I told myself over and over that it could be one out of three things: 1. He was out of my comfort zone and maybe I just felt like it wasn’t working because I am not used to guys like him; 2. Maybe I was more reluctant about the app than anything else, therefore my opinions on him were based solemnly on my apprehension on an app that was also out of my comfort zone; or 3. I was too worried about this whole thing not working out when I just needed to give this a shot because it wasn’t fair with him to just be thrown away like that.
So, the funny part is, I am realizing this now as I am writing this post, that for a second there I seemed to forget that men ain’t shit and therefore, don’t deserve much compassion at all. I should’ve trusted my gut feeling after the first few texts and just called it a day. But oh well, sometimes like I said, I just really need to be a dumb bitch.
The date was last Tuesday, and I was pretty reluctant to go out with a guy that was nothing like the guys I was used to. This one had no criminal record or apparent problematic personality trait – but this was a nice change, this was the new thing I deserved to try and hopefully enjoy. So I went running to my dear old Tony the minute we found ourselves alone on Tuesday morning and told her how freakishly panicked I was about that date. Tony did the best friend job that no one quite knows how to as well as she does, and reminded me over and over again that I have a PhD, and not only on Tinder but on men, reminded me about the amount of menknowledge I have in my brain, and above everything, highlighted the fact that I deserved a good first date – and until then I never realized I never had one perfect first date in my many years of dating.
So I made sure the guy, and let’s call him Fred here which happens to be his real name but I think, if any of the men I’ve ranted about here before needs to read what I have to say about him, it is Fred. I made sure Fred was well aware that this was going to be a traditional date, with a dinner and a drink and maybe a tiny make out session in the car, but I made sure he knew that this Tinderella – or rather, Innerella, geez this name sucks – needed to be in bed by midnight as she had her thesis to turn in the next morning. Fred was super down for it and seemed excited, which made me realize how unfair I was being with him and how much he actually deserved this chance, and for me to be open about him. Beloved readers, I’ve called myself many things in the past but never naïve, and dear God, how naïve I was being…
I was so focused on the fact that he actually seemed nice that apart from binge watching The Office the whole day, I did something I’ve never done with a men I didn’t even know – for men I’ve known, plenty of times though – and freaked out.
I freaked out so hard I called Tony with a full on panic attack and literally felt like I was about to throw up on her through FaceTime. And she said the wisest thing one could’ve said – which only proves me why she’s my best friend – “Go do your eyebrows, you will feel like yourself and remember the bad bitch you are”, and in that moment, those words were as inspiring and wise as Lizzo’s and they really did the trick.
As I got ready, I progressively started to feel better and regain my confidence which as always made me feel indestructible. Suddenly I seemed to have found the ultimate men guide I keep safe and sound in one of the drawers of my brain, and I knew exactly what I would do. Because it doesn’t matter how many times I’ve been ghosted in this life, and how tragic some of my dates went, I can’t remember a date I didn’t have fun – even if later on, after my libido went down and my sanity rose up, I realized it was rather tragic than comic.
I can now remember a date I didn’t have fun, and it was the one with Fred. Fred who was a mansplainer, Fred who had this superior tone when talking to waiters, Fred who constantly interrupted me, Fred who was in fact a Trump supporter, Fred who treated me like I was a teenage cliché, Fred who was so fucking clueless of how not into him I was he kept being pushy and making me feel uncomfortable. Which makes me want to scream from the top of my lungs even with my currently damaged throat, over and over again, for you beloved readers never to trust a guy. Never. No matter how many times he texts you saying “it’s whatever you want” and that he “just wants for you be comfortable and have a good time”, this is all straight up bullshit, for a lack of better term.
Because men don’t really care if you are comfortable or if you are having fun. Much like during sex, they are mainly in it for their own satisfaction and whatever glimpse of pleasure you may get from it, is a bonus. They simply do not care. At all. Specially when they lay eyes on you and they see what’s your deal and suddenly, and I feel this pretty often when in dates, they just figure you are too complicated, too much work and decide that even if you are not the one for them, you are at least pretty hot, so they will stick around until the end of the date to try and score you. And that was exactly what Fred did.
I was mid-sentence about something when he touched my arm, interrupting me for the umpteenth time that night, and said “I just want to kiss you for one hour straight”, and by then, I knew damn well I didn’t want to be kissing him at all. So I gave him a weird frown and an awkward smile and said, “Maybe next time, like I said I have my thesis tomorrow”. And like every boy, that is yet to become a man, he dramatically sighed like the brat he was and ordered the check. I was so confused for a second but my brain was too happy about this date being over so I didn’t even question the action that much. Then he hit my last nerve and waved his platinum American Express at my face and said he wanted to pay, and I literally yelled “Over my dead body” and found my own credit card and paid for myself. Which of course, damaged poor Fred’s ego, who once again sighed loudly and this time, I could’ve sworn he groaned.
We went back to his car and after insisting on opening the door for me – and I know what you are thinking, even if a douche he was only being kind, but when someone wants to be all sexist on me, I will need to make sure they know that the last thing I need is a man to help me in any way, specially to open my door. I get pretty aggressive when people fuck with my movement. Anyways, he got me in the car and on the ten minutes drive back home, he proceeded to allow me to talk by myself as he was in no mood to talk, clearly only to “kiss me for one hour straight”, but when he probably got over the sound of my voice, he literally said “You have five minutes to change your mind about me going up to your apartment.”
Beloved readers, while I was showering for this date, I realized something about me that I am not proud of. I tend to give men passes for being assholes while with them because I have this crazy fear of rejection and I like pleasing people. And through the years, and some of you may’ve probably noticed that, I have developed this kind of blindness that makes me ignore red flags and problematic traits, only because I am so desperate for the person to be into me. And sometimes, and this is the saddest part, I don’t even know if I like them. My main concern doesn’t seem to be if I want this for myself, and before going on this date, I promised myself this would be only about me. What I want, if I like him and what makes me happy.
So even though this was the worst date of my life, this was also the first date of my life that I was true to my rules and my words and didn’t go along my blindness, didn’t collect the red flags as souvenirs and certainly didn’t do anything I didn’t want to.
But as I was saying, Fred interrupted me to say I had five minutes to change my mind, and I proceeded to remind him that I had my thesis, something that is a massive deal to me, to turn in the next day – by now, it seemed as if I had reminded him about this thesis ten or twelve times. He went ahead and said once again that it was up to me and “whatever made me feel more comfortable”, which at this point made me roll my eyes as he clearly couldn’t care less about what made me comfortable. He seemed frustrated, and before I could ask what was up, he started a ramble about how he didn’t get why girls never want to “put out” on first dates, because if that made them think men would want them more, they were surely mistaken, quite the contrary actually according to Fred, who went on a monologue to explain why he would be so much more into me if I gave in to his wishes and fucked him that same night.
In that moment, I lost it. I didn’t care if he would like what I had to say and I certainly didn’t care if he liked me. So I began to explain to him, in that same idiotic tone he insisted on talking to me every time he went ahead to explain something that night, and told him that this wasn’t about him, that this was about what I wanted and I couldn’t care less about what he wanted. I told him that it was my game and my rules and I didn’t want to sleep with him that night or ever, also told him he could stop saying he wanted me to be comfortable when he was being fucking pushy the whole night and how fucking annoying that was.
He went speechless for a second of two then went ahead saying he wasn’t pushy at all, but I wasn’t listening, we finally reached my street and I felt like I could breath again. I was proud of myself but still apprehensive because I was in his car and he could really harm me if he wanted and I guess that’s a fear no woman will ever live without.
He parked the car in front of my building and as I was taking off my seatbelt he started to do the same. I blankly stared at him, and asked if he thought he was going somewhere, to which he rolled his eyes and said “come on”, and I responded “See, that is being fucking pushy. No one fucking likes pushy.” And he just nodded and said in the brattiest tone ever “Fine. Good luck on your thesis”, and I finally, happily got to reply, “I don’t need luck, I trust myself”, slammed the door, walked away, and never ever looked back.
Fred proceeded to text me again that night and on the following morning, and who knew I had it in me to ghost someone. After that horrible night, I could only be proud of myself, it seemed like it was the first time ever I didn’t say too little or too much, I said enough, and that was for sure a first for me. As for the many times I was ghosted and swore I’d never do the same to anyone, I need to remind myself that men ain’t shit and that, if I ghost him, well he surely had it coming. As for the Tinderella life, I guess I am officially resigning – happily so. And finally, may you never, ever waste three hours of your precious life with the Freds of the world, who are not useful for anything, not even a funny story.
Until next week beloved readers, hopefully without a fever and without men like Fred, but if I have to choose one, I will take the fever, happily may I add. Stay out of trouble, but if you don’t – oh my god, tell me all about it.
– Your Girl on the Go