Queen is ringing in my ears right now.
So let's do a brief recap since my life has been in a complete whirlwind for the last 5 or so days.
I slept at Oldieman's place two nights in a row, which was a bad, nearly indulgent decision on my end since I had training for my new job in the city early both days. Yesterday, he dropped me off at the Path station and moved my car to the other side of the block for street cleaning so I wouldn't get a ticket. Aww.
More like vom.
Oldieman texts me that he went into the city to work for a little bit and wanted to know if we could "go home" together. Are we married?
I had drinks with a bunch of people from my old job so I invited him through clenched teeth. I didn't feel comfortable with my closest friends and former co-workers meeting this ... man. At my going away party. I also knew he'd try to whisk me away well before midnight before the Path train turned into a pumpkin like in Cinderella. Only in hindsight, he was nowhere close to being my Prince Charming.
So he canceled, thank GOODNESS. I wound up getting back to his place at 2 a.m., and he was visibly annoyed by having to stumble out of bed all greasy and bloated in a pair of briefs to let me in at such an ungodly hour.
Age difference? Who said anything about an age difference??
I sheepishly - and drunkenly - ask if he's mad.
He looks at me incredulously as I begin to trudge up the two flights of stairs to his bachelor pad.
"It's two o'clock in the morning," he says with a greasy and bloated scowl.
"Then I'll go upstairs and get my keys and go home."
But no. I stayed because, quite frankly, I didn't feel like driving home at that point. Not after seven hours of beer and bar food.
Instead, I shoot out of bed at 7 a.m. like it was Christmas morning and I was five again.
He wakes up abruptly, even greasier and more bloated than he was five hours prior.
"What's wrong???"
"I'm leaving."
And then I left in a flurry of residual Bud Lites and cigarette breath with no more than a kiss on a cheek and half-sincere "I'll call you later."
There was something deeply visceral about crying silently while lying in bed next to someone for whom you feel absolutely nothing. I couldn't help but to think of my ex-douche bag boyfriend. Gulp.
Now, nearly half a day later and not one peep from him. Which makes me feel relieved because it saves me the trouble of having to bite the bullet and formally end things with Oldieman.
So as a small gift to myself - and swift kick in the ass - I completely refreshed my stale, pre-Oldieman profile on Match, updated my photos and even went out on a limb and messaged two boys.
If you made it this far into the post, I have to take the second to pontificate, which I feel more than entitled to doing since this round on Match has been nothing short of making me want to turn lesbian (I'd probably have better luck).
It's easy to lose yourself out there, in the magical facade of online dating. Especially when you're forcing yourself to indulge in dating several guys, when all you really want is one to call your own.
I don't know what the future holds. A lot of me wants to cancel my account and wipe my hands clean of Match for good. It's given me a ton of great bar stories and a few nice dinners, but right now, I just feel indifferent and empty.
Which is what my inbox has been for the three weeks while dating Oldieman.
It's fall. Time to turn a new leaf.
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