Over the course of my new life, I have had the opportunity to hang out with new people, including members of the fairer sex. I have even, occasionally, been able to spend time in a more-than-friends capacity with some of them.
Were they all dates? Were we just hanging out? Were we "hanging out"?
I don't know and, most of the time, that definition hasn't really mattered.
With a pretty significant portion of those women, I have maintained a friendship. With many of the rest, we decided that it (whatever "it" was) just wasn't working, and we went our own ways.
With some, though? Things were different.
Not in a
boil-a-rabbit kind of way, but in disappear-inexplicably-with-few-or-no-comments kind of way.
To this, I give you the top five most abrupt conclusions to "hang outs" I've had with women.
5. "I would rather wipe my online identity rather than talk to you again."
Background: I met at chick at Ozzie's some time ago. She was cute enough and interesting enough for me to ask for (and, fortunately (I thought at the time), receive) her number. I called her a couple of days later and we talked and actually became MySpace friends (this is dating this experience, clearly) before we went out on our first date.
And by "first" I mean "only".
We had dinner and, I thought, a decent conversation. I walked her to her car at the end of the night and made no move on her. I was (at the time, at least) a gentleman.
The Conclusion: I txted her the next day, thanking her for hanging out. No response. I noticed she'd deleted her MySpace page (not just blocked me or zapped me as a friend). I called to see if she'd like to go out again. No response.
No response. Ever.
Best Guess (my bad): I said something, at some point, about how we should do something (something specific... meet my cats? Watch a particular movie? Something that seemed to be reasonable within the context of the conversation) at my place... but I think she might have thought I meant right
then. Not that there's anything terrible about inviting a chick back to my place on a first hang-out (or so I hear...) but she looked surprised and, perhaps, it freaked her out.
Best Guess (her bad): She worked as a barista, and she worked in one of the "dress-up" ones. Not a
bikini stand, but one where the women dressed as nurses and maids and ... whatever. Basically Halloween every day, with the correspondingly slutty outfits (God love 'em!). She had mentioned that she had a lot of creepy guys visit her (what? No!!) and that she wasn't comfy with it, but her stand had friended her, etc., and guys from the stand were finding her that way.
So maybe she deleted her MySpace account on account of that. The timing of our dinner was purely coincidental. And I'm sure she just lost my phone number or had head trauma.
Or something.
4. "Your sense of self is over-inflated and, thus, I bid you farewell."
Background: I met a woman at the Frontier Room. She was a nice woman that I found to be attractive. The feeling was mutual enough to lead to an exchange of phone numbers and an exchange of a couple of evenings. She was my Facebook friend and she followed my blog.
At least until she wasn't and didn't.
The Conclusion: I wrote a blog that involved me with cartoonish levels of puffery (i.e., I was writing arrogantly to try to be funny) and she didn't like it. She made a comment on the blog post. She un-friended me. She stopped following my blog.
She didn't respond to the lone txt I sent her (which, unlike with most of the others on this list, I had a feeling was going to be the case).
Best Guess (my bad): I have friends who like to post things on my Facebook page. And some of these things, presumably, were viewable by this chick. One friend (Facebook and real-life) posted something about Frontier Room girls, implying that I met a lot of them (which is ... only partly true). That, I think, laid the groundwork for this chick reading my blog in a spirit in which it was not intended.
Best Guess (her bad): She was sort of inexperienced in some ways and perhaps saw hanging out as something closer to "hanging out with an option to marry". I don't know if that's her fault or my fault. I already accepted responsibility for a comment of my friend's, though, so I'm pinning this one on the chick.
3. "See you in a few minutes. Or never talk to you again."
Background: I was really drunk one night at a nearly empty bar and embarrassing my friends with my terrifically terrible dance moves. I also happened to stare at one of the approximately three women in the whole place (not including waitresses and bartendresses). Stared more than Sober Ed O. might, but not too much to stop her from offering her number (the classic, "So do you want my number, or what?", like she's annoyed at
having to give me her number and/or that I hadn't asked yet).
We txted back and forth for a bit over the next few days. Chatted and got to know each other a bit. She asked me odd questions about whether I was a player and then took a "Maybe; it depends on one's definition of 'player'" as a "Yes".
We hung out a few times. The third time I saw her, I was with a couple of friends and we all agreed to meet up at another bar. We had all driven separately, and on her way out, she specifically told one of my female friends she'd see her in a couple of minutes.
The Conclusion: I haven't seen her since. She txted me about a half an hour later, saying she had to help her friend (who'd gotten into an argument with her boyfriend) and that it would be a detour. She even put a ":(" to end the txt.
I txted her right back, saying I looked forward to her arrival. And an hour later, saying we all missed her. And then the next day, hoping she got home safely.
She never replied. Not once.
Best Guess (my bad): It's possible, in spite of her protestations, that she
wanted me to be a player. That she didn't want anything approaching a boyfriend, etc. She didn't say that, but it woulda been just fine with me. The last night we hung out I complimented her or something and she replied, "That doesn't sound like a player thing to say." and I shrugged. I guess, once again, I wasn't clearly enough NOT interested in a relationship, and this time the chick read it terribly.
Best Guess (her bad): Uh. She's crazy, maybe (although see #1, below... THAT is crazy). She's averse to confrontation? She was cheating on her boyfriend? I don't know.
2. "Your dream date is not dreamy enough."
Background: Way back in the dark ages, I was active on Match.com. I met this woman through the popular online dating service and we agreed to get together to have sushi. She was a lovely, if slightly larger, woman, and I enjoyed our conversation in spite of the innumerable oddities, including:
Her: Are you nervous?
Me: No. It's freezing outside and I didn't wear a jacket.
Her: You look nervous. It's OK...
Me: No. I'm totally not.
Her: I intimidate men.
Her: I am high-maintenance. I know it and I'm worth it.
Her: What are you?
Me: What do you mean?
Her: Are you Japanese?
Me: Like, ethnically?
We were sitting across a table from one another, like three feet away. I don't look
that Asian.
On the walk after dinner (I walked her to her place), we agreed to hang out again. Actually, she sort of agreed. Something like this:
Her: Are we going to go out again?
Me: Sure. Sounds good.
Her: What are we going to do?
Me: I dunno. A movie, maybe...
Her: OK. Which one?
Me: I'm not sure... we can look to see what's playing...
Her: How about Apocalypto?
Me: Um... sounds good. Tuesday night?
Her: Tuesday. Yes.
The Conclusion: That seems like pretty firm plans. Nothing extravagant, but pretty clear. Well, we were exchanging Match.com mails at that point (I don't think I ever got her number) and when I tried to confirm Tuesday, she mailed me back, asking what the perfect date would be.
I got the sense that it was a precondition of hanging out again, which should not be a factor when we'd already agreed to hang out. So I replied that it would involve dinner and a night of bowling.
Match.com, as it turns out, has a "sorry, no longer interested" reply that's a form-type situation. She sent it to me shortly therafter, NOT selecting that she didn't find me interesting or attractive, but that our lifestyles didn't mesh.
Oops.
Best Guess (my bad): I should have made up some crap about flying her to Paris.
Best Guess (her bad): She should not have gone so far as to pick out a movie if she wanted me to make up some crap about flying her to Paris.
1. "Sure, I'll have home-cooked lasagna. Or not."
Background: Sometimes you don't see chicks perma-flaking on you. Sometimes ... you do. In spite of the lack of surprise with this woman, she still gets my number one most abrupt conclusion.
She was the "fuck off now" chick (I need to dig that blog up; basically I said something wrong to her at the end of a night where she was walking around topless in her apartment all night and she told me to "fuck off now" via txt the next day. We started hanging out after my blog about her charmed my way back into her good graces/crazy zone).
She was the chick who was 45 minutes late for a date with me because (she claims) she was masturbating.
She was the chick who ... well, there are other stories but they're too embarrassing to blog about. (Savor that, given the last two things I've written about her.)
The final straw? A couple of weeks after she stood me up, we agreed to have dinner at my place. I was going to cook lasagna. From scratch.
The Conclusion: How do you think it turned out?
We were txting back and forth all evening. It was about 7:00, and
just when I was about to start putting the cheese/cream sauce on the recently
al dente'd noodles when we had this txt exchange. It was short. It was final.
Her: Babes. I'm feeling sooo sleepy.
Me: You have got to be fucking shitting me.
I never heard from her again.
Best Guess (my bad): She was crazy. I was inexperienced as a hang-outer. In many ways, she was just fine (in spite of the insanity) but I somehow let myself get invested. Repeatedly. My bad, indeed.
Best Guess (her bad): She was crazy. Maybe autistic or drug-addled, too.
But she
was pretty hot...
So, when I don't like something or someone, it's due to negative traits that I perceive (which, granted, might be disagreed with by reasonable people or even incorrect objectively).
