#youngermen

   Here's what you missed last week:

He responded to my voicemail... WITH A TEXT.

“If he doesn’t want to talk to me, I’ll give him what he wants!  Fuck that!”  I said to anyone who would still speak to me after the nine days of hell I’d put them through.  I didn’t text Special Ed back.  He hadn’t asked any questions.  His text had even said “Happy Friday.”  WTF is that?  “Happy Friday” is merely a lame way to open an email to a client.     

I posted a rare Instagram the night after the text blow off of a full moon with the caption, “Moon, it’s all your fault.”  Lo and behold, Ed was following me on Instagram (I used it so infrequently I hadn’t noticed).  He liked my picture.  And promptly started drunk texting me. 

When Special Ed told me how much he missed me, I didn’t really believe him since he’d been avoiding me for a week and a half.  “What do you miss?”  I asked in earnest.  Below is the communication breakdown that then occurred. 

Me: What do you miss exactly?

Ed: Your company. 

Exactly?

Well…

I miss your humor and conversation. 

Me: That’s nice Ed.  My company misses your company too.  

Ed: Nice?

Well, I could be more explicit but that isn’t polite.

Me: I mean that was a nice thing to say.  I meant that was really nice and made me feel happy. 

Ed: I miss the way you make love to me to be exact.  

Me: You’re drunk.  :)

Ed: Totally

Wasted

Me: I wasn’t looking for explicit but that’s ok.  

Ed: Ok.

I’m explicit. 

Me: Girls really like hearing nice things about their personalities!  :)

I already know about my ass.  Ha ha.  :)

Ed: Duh.

This conversation needs to be restarted.  Sorry if I offended you.  

Me: You didn’t offend me at all!

Text is an extremely insufficient form of communication. 

Ed: Yeah.  I’m drunk too.  Anyway, sleep & be well.         

Me: When are you coming back? 

You should know any woman who is offended by someone using the words “make love” is not normal. 

Ed: The 27th but I’m leaving the 30th for California.  That’s cool but I don’t care if she is offended.  Will I want to fuck you suffice?  I think it is okay. 

Me: I just think it’s really cute when a guy says that. 

Ed: I want to fuck you

Me: I mean I think the other thing is cute!

Ed: Cool.  You learn something new every day.

Oh…

Me: Can you call me?  

Ed: No.  I’m at my friend’s. 

Me: Texting is really confusing. 

E: I’m really drunk too.  I totally missed your point in the fucking conversation.  Anyway, good night. 

Me: Yeah, that’s why I’d rather hear your actual voice. 

Ed: Well sweet dreams. 

Me: You too.  I want to fuck you too if it helps.  :)

Ed: It kinda does… Ha be well.  Talk soon. 

Sweet dreams

I cringe today at my "please still like me" play at making him feel comfortable with his attempted sexting.  

The next morning “You’re awesome” was replaced by “Sorry for all the texts!  I was drunk and kinda rude.”  It was like nothing he said he meant anything – including when he missed me and liked my company.  When did a late night whispered phone call in the bathroom or on the front porch become so rude and unacceptable?  Seriously, Millennials?

In line with the disclaimer text, the day I’d been waiting for, when Special Ed finally returned to the metro area, the day when all of this was supposed to become clear and my summer returned to free and breezy order, came and went with no mention of him being back in town.  I must mention, because digital life factors so large in this story, that I'd followed and unfollowed (when I realized he was liking all these buxom babe pictures and not talking to me) Ed on Instagram during those few days.  I broke down the day after his alleged return with an “Are you back?” text that was ignored.  That night I tortured one of my friends over margaritas (though managed to shut up during the movie) and composed the voicemail I’d leave for him the next morning.  

I happen to have my phone script. 

Hi Ed, it’s Me.  Since you won’t answer your phone or respond to me it’s pretty obvious that we aren’t going to see each other anymore.  But it would be so much nicer if you would tell me honestly why because I don’t know what happened with you over the last couple weeks to change everything.  A week ago you were texting me you missed me and by yesterday you wouldn’t even acknowledge that you had gotten back in town.  So, your messages have been pretty confusing since you’ve been gone and I was really hoping things would get cleared up one way or another when you got back.  But, if you aren’t willing to do that, I’ll just say it for you because this definitely isn’t working for me.  And I’d be lying if I didn’t say this – I’m pretty disappointed, because I thought you were way cooler than treating someone who has been nice to you like this.  

There were actually several drafts before this was settled on. 

In my mind Ed had  gone "too fast" with one of the amazing women in Detroit (I know - I used to be one) and didn't know how to tell me he was inviting her to the West Coast.  It was obvious that fitting both of us and all of our stuff in his Nissan Versa was impractical, never mind that Ed was ill-equipped to manage two women at once (see above aborted sext).  

I felt refreshingly light after leaving the voicemail and went to meet some friends at the pool.  It was obvious to me that Ed didn’t want to ever talk to me again, and I’d said my piece and moved on.  Imagine my surprise when I got a yet another enlightening text message that afternoon apologizing for missing my call, including some bullshit about how Ed’d been out of town and was leaving for the West Coast (tell someone who doesn’t know!), and would "give me a shout" later.  These were the times when his dyslexia really seemed apparent.  

“Great”, I thought, “Now I’m just waiting for him to call me again!”  That he did, the following morning.  The first notable words out of my mouth were, “You need to listen to the words that are comin’ out of your mouth” (zing!), but the biggest thing I’ll take from the conversation was this quote: “I realized I couldn’t give you the kind of commitment you wanted, or what you deserved, and I didn’t know what to say to you, so I just stopped talking to you.”   

Another girl would have been easier to swallow, and made more sense.   

I didn’t remember ever talking about what I wanted or deserved.  I thought I at least deserved the guy I’d been sleeping with, who’d been inviting me on his vacation, to tell me that he was freaking out and couldn’t see me anymore.  That one seemed obvious to me, but I guess it wasn’t until I word processed it into the voicemail I left on his turned off iPhone.   

I experienced my first heartbreak in years that day, and into the following weeks when I really expected to hear from him.  And did not.  I held this moment close to me: Ed and I were laying on the floor listening to records.  He was drunk and being emotionally open (his words).  I could never forget, later, that he told me he tended to get dumped and then HE dumped ME.  But there was this.  I was leaning over him and he said “I like listening to music with you.”  As if it was such a revelation.  That moment was pure.  What kind of girls had he been dating anyway?  Did they not have records???

I took my own road trip (Ed was shocked when I told him I had this plan – I suspect he thought I’d booked my ticket to nowhere with him already) to try and forget Ed.  I overposted on Facebook until I finally deleted Ed from my friends list to stop my own insanity.  This was after enduring his Dalai Lama repost a couple days after our affair-ending conversation.  It mentioned misconceived projections and slavery to emotion, and the concept of creating your own problems.  “Seriously, he better realize that he’s projecting on ME!” I thought (slave to anger).  I also read into his hashtagging of Wilco lyrics on Instagram.  Said lyrics were about a guy who had to drive far away and sleep on a mountaintop to forget some chick.  WTF.  I couldn’t believe he never contacted me.  I had loved him, and set him free, and he had never come back to me.  The final straw was when he added a new Facebook friend.  I just knew he was on Tinder.

Having a great time on Facebook!   

I went on dates, met younger men, and tried Tinder out again (after a few months).  First, because my friend had seen Ed on it.  I had to see for myself.  After I saw and “noped” Ed, I met a forty-four-year-old divorced Dad.  I considered that an accomplishment for a 24-hour stint and chatted with him on and off until he finally blew off the time we were actually going to get together several weeks later.  I’ve since deleted his number from my phone.  

The second time, I got together with a college friend who was Tindering.  He convinced me to get back on Tinder at the bar and we dared each other to say yes to every single person we encountered.  I ended up with 87 matches, my first sex propositions, and a message that said simply “I want to fill that pussy”.  I deleted my account again, while my friend was texting me, “Is Tinder broken?  It’s not letting me swipe!  Is it working for you?”   

I was tricked into thinking Tinder was okay by this article for a moment: http://nymag.com/thecut/2013/10/how-tinder-solved-online-dating-for-women.html

Oh yeah!  I did like that I only had to deal with guys I had designated as at least superficially attractive.  I DID think it was sort of like a cyber bar in that there were no profiles to be read and judged.  But here’s the rub: like all online dating and in life, to get to the wheat, you have to deal with all kinds of chaff.  And that chaff finds its way to your face no matter how hard you try not to look at it.  In the online dating world, everything that happens in real life happens twelve times faster.  I.e. - twelve times more profane encounters than normal.   

The third and final try on Tinder (and admittedly all tries after the time I met Ed were really meant to try and encounter Ed again) was the night the forty-four-year-old divorced Dad had blown off our plans to get a drink.  I was feeling disproportionately disappointed.  I’d been excited to meet someone older for a change.  This time brought a potential “match” whose photo featured his erect penis prominently – like a selfie where the dick was in the foreground and the guy took a backseat.  There’s no way (that I know) to report someone you aren’t chatting with.  How many girls had to see that?  Account deleted permanently.  Fantasies of matching with Ed again dashed.  

I’ve given up on all forms of online and mobile dating, as this instantly gratifying aspect of Tinder seems to have infected my once favorite site, OkCupid.  The last time I spent a hopeful week on it, I got more than one message from young (like, really young) guys wondering if I wanted to meet them that night if I was “feeling adventurous” or asking me if I like younger men.  "Um, yeah, I do, actually" I did NOT respond to any of them.  They had no idea what adventurous is to me, I'm fairly certain.

As for Special Ed, my long maintained obsession with him came to an end when I, motivated by a discussion about unconditional love, decided to send him an “I’ve been thinking of you lately, hope you are well!” text.  First of all, I’m so much cooler than this.  Second of all, the exclamation point was a total lie.  Third of all, I had long before changed his name in my phone to “Hashtags Wilco Lyrics”.  I was convinced that Ed had found someone and I was reaching out into the world for more rejection.  The moment I set down my phone, I knocked over a wine glass that shattered into a million pieces I was still finding in my flokati rug weeks later.  The universe was angry with me, and Ed did not respond.  I’d gotten what I’d asked for (ultimately, the hot moment with a young one) had hung on for too long. 

That Ed was that kind of guy, to not even fake that he hoped I was well too, was the bitter pill to swallow.  I had to bury the disabled child-helping sweetheart that liked listening to music with me and smelled amazing, in addition to all the imaginary beautiful photos he was going to take of me.  The dirty mouth Ed seemed more like the truth.  Now I think when I do eventually run into him, he’ll just look really short.

It’s worth re-reading the Dalai Lama’s words, graciously shared on Special Ed's Facebook wall. 

Everyone wants a happy life without difficulties or suffering. We create many of the problems we face. No one intentionally creates problems, but we tend to be slaves to powerful emotions like anger, hatred and attachment that are based on misconceived projections about people and things. We need to find ways of reducing these emotions by eliminating the ignorance that underlies them and applying opposing forces.

Add to the powerful forces mentioned above: lust, the need to be adored, and the intoxicating waves of Kiehl’s Original Musk.  I'll leave the Wilco lyrics to any sap that wants to look them up.  

By the way Ed, why are you still following me on Instagram?