Mansandal Matt
I promised this story as payment, and I hear Casey has been known to break a person's leg when they don't pay up, so for you, poopsie, I write.
In the summer of 2003 I found myself newly (heartbrokenly) single, and rather than act like a sensible person and properly mourn, I went looking for new companionship with a vengeance. Since there's nothing as quick and easy as shopping online, I started with a dating website. I poured through profile after profile, looking for someone interesting and handsome enough to replace the hottest man I had ever been with.
After some good laughs at quite a few profiles (say, too bad there's no service to help people make a good dating profile, Casey. Look into it, willya?), I found Matt. Matt looked nice enough looking; he was no Abercrombie model like my ex, but pretty is as pretty does and his profile seemed decent enough. I ignored the fact that he was from Bisbee (notorious hippie town), and the fact that he worked at Trader Joe's (notorious hippie store), and all of the other red flags to a girl like me such as "Phish", "hiking", and I wrote to him. Almost immediately he answered, and after a couple emails I suggested meeting. I always advise meeting as soon as possible, rather than a long drawn out email exchange during which you have plenty of time to build up a completely inaccurate picture of whomever you're talking to, making disappointment all the more likely. And...um.... I also knew I'd be talking to the ex soon and really wanted to be able to say I had a date coming up.
So off I go to meet Matt at the Barrio Cafe, a wonderful date place in downtown Tucson. I walked in to find him waiting at the bar, looking nothing like his picture, and rather shorter than advertised. He gestured awkwardly at a poor sick little rose sitting in front or him, and said "it's for you". I was determined to have a good time, so I thanked him very much and sat down, pulling the rose in front of me. I proceeded to chatter like a maniac all night to make up for his silence, and when we were done with dinner I left thinking "he can't possibly have enjoyed that either". I realized halfway home that I hadn't even bothered to look at his shoes (remember fellas: nothing will get you laid quicker than a great pair of shoes), but I figured that even that most important of signs didn't matter at this point.
But I'd had a drink or two too many over dinner, and when I got home to find no message, no email, no NOTHING from the ex, I just sat there and cried and smoked and drank some more. When I woke up the next morning and ran to check my email first thing, there was still nothing from the ex, but there was a note from Matt saying he had a good time and would like to see me again.
Suddenly this, combined with the rose (after all, who else had brought me flowers lately?) cast him in a more favorable light. Soon I knew, just knew, that this was going to be just what I needed. I was imagining us happy together, his little daughter the perfect new sibling for my son, aqnd Matt himself just exactly the quiet, steady rock I needed to calm me and my constant frenzies down. (***NOTE***I never said I wasn't crazy).
We agreed to meet the next day to see a movie. As I walked up, all sorts of things were screaming wrong. The muted look of anticipation on his face hidden behind his gold rimmed glasses from 1991, the faded navy turtleneck tucked into the pleated olive dockers with a brown belt and OH MY FUCKING GOD ARE THOSE NAVY BLUE MOTHERFUCKING SOCKS YOU'RE WEARING WITH YOUR MOTHERFUCKING BIRKENSTOCKS??????
Yes, yes they were.
It all hit me right then, so hard that I don't know how I even kept walking. This wasn't right, this was not what I wanted, I was nowhere near ready to move on and even when I was, this guy was not the guy for me to do it with and to use him would be horrid. It was bad enough that I was here, though, having let the poor man think I was interested, and I wasn't about to be any meaner about it. Luckily, in a movie there is no conversation to be had, and when he suggested ice cream around the corner I accepted, planning to be polite but disinterested. I did just that, making only the most mundane of conversation, answering his questions with the shortest possible answer and not asking any questions of my own, and when we parted ways I made a noncommital noise at his suggestion that we do it again, and walked quickly to my car without looking back.
The next morning there was an email from him, which I didn't answer for 3 days, and when I did I only said "I liked the movie, thanks again". After that I didn't hear from him for a while, and I felt guilty but relieved. Then a couple of weeks later, he emailed asking "Can I take you out to dinner sometime?", to which I responded "sorry, but I don't think I'll be able to". I felt like that was pretty clearly an "I don't want to".
Silence.
A couple of days later, he wrote, "Well why don't you let me know when you're free, then", which I didn't answer at all.
A couple more days go by, and he sent, "When can we go to dinner?". Again, I answered, "I'm sorry, I can't".
Silence for days and days, until I get one last email saying, "I really wish you could be a grownup about this and just tell me you're not interested in me. I don't appreciate this game playing and just need you to tell me if you're not interested in hanging out with me. If you're not, we could still be friends".
Ok, now I think that anyone with any people skills would have realized after the first "no" that I wasn't digging it. And at the very least I REALLY don't think I was game playing, I mean I kept saying "no". I never said "maybe later" or "now's not a good time" or any of that crap, I just said "sorry, no". And lastly, what the fuck, "even if you're not interested in hanging out with me, we could still be friends"?
So I answered simply "I'm not interested in hanging out with you", he answered "Thank you for being adult", and that is the story of Mattenstock.
In the summer of 2003 I found myself newly (heartbrokenly) single, and rather than act like a sensible person and properly mourn, I went looking for new companionship with a vengeance. Since there's nothing as quick and easy as shopping online, I started with a dating website. I poured through profile after profile, looking for someone interesting and handsome enough to replace the hottest man I had ever been with.
After some good laughs at quite a few profiles (say, too bad there's no service to help people make a good dating profile, Casey. Look into it, willya?), I found Matt. Matt looked nice enough looking; he was no Abercrombie model like my ex, but pretty is as pretty does and his profile seemed decent enough. I ignored the fact that he was from Bisbee (notorious hippie town), and the fact that he worked at Trader Joe's (notorious hippie store), and all of the other red flags to a girl like me such as "Phish", "hiking", and I wrote to him. Almost immediately he answered, and after a couple emails I suggested meeting. I always advise meeting as soon as possible, rather than a long drawn out email exchange during which you have plenty of time to build up a completely inaccurate picture of whomever you're talking to, making disappointment all the more likely. And...um.... I also knew I'd be talking to the ex soon and really wanted to be able to say I had a date coming up.
So off I go to meet Matt at the Barrio Cafe, a wonderful date place in downtown Tucson. I walked in to find him waiting at the bar, looking nothing like his picture, and rather shorter than advertised. He gestured awkwardly at a poor sick little rose sitting in front or him, and said "it's for you". I was determined to have a good time, so I thanked him very much and sat down, pulling the rose in front of me. I proceeded to chatter like a maniac all night to make up for his silence, and when we were done with dinner I left thinking "he can't possibly have enjoyed that either". I realized halfway home that I hadn't even bothered to look at his shoes (remember fellas: nothing will get you laid quicker than a great pair of shoes), but I figured that even that most important of signs didn't matter at this point.
But I'd had a drink or two too many over dinner, and when I got home to find no message, no email, no NOTHING from the ex, I just sat there and cried and smoked and drank some more. When I woke up the next morning and ran to check my email first thing, there was still nothing from the ex, but there was a note from Matt saying he had a good time and would like to see me again.
Suddenly this, combined with the rose (after all, who else had brought me flowers lately?) cast him in a more favorable light. Soon I knew, just knew, that this was going to be just what I needed. I was imagining us happy together, his little daughter the perfect new sibling for my son, aqnd Matt himself just exactly the quiet, steady rock I needed to calm me and my constant frenzies down. (***NOTE***I never said I wasn't crazy).
We agreed to meet the next day to see a movie. As I walked up, all sorts of things were screaming wrong. The muted look of anticipation on his face hidden behind his gold rimmed glasses from 1991, the faded navy turtleneck tucked into the pleated olive dockers with a brown belt and OH MY FUCKING GOD ARE THOSE NAVY BLUE MOTHERFUCKING SOCKS YOU'RE WEARING WITH YOUR MOTHERFUCKING BIRKENSTOCKS??????
Yes, yes they were.
It all hit me right then, so hard that I don't know how I even kept walking. This wasn't right, this was not what I wanted, I was nowhere near ready to move on and even when I was, this guy was not the guy for me to do it with and to use him would be horrid. It was bad enough that I was here, though, having let the poor man think I was interested, and I wasn't about to be any meaner about it. Luckily, in a movie there is no conversation to be had, and when he suggested ice cream around the corner I accepted, planning to be polite but disinterested. I did just that, making only the most mundane of conversation, answering his questions with the shortest possible answer and not asking any questions of my own, and when we parted ways I made a noncommital noise at his suggestion that we do it again, and walked quickly to my car without looking back.
The next morning there was an email from him, which I didn't answer for 3 days, and when I did I only said "I liked the movie, thanks again". After that I didn't hear from him for a while, and I felt guilty but relieved. Then a couple of weeks later, he emailed asking "Can I take you out to dinner sometime?", to which I responded "sorry, but I don't think I'll be able to". I felt like that was pretty clearly an "I don't want to".
Silence.
A couple of days later, he wrote, "Well why don't you let me know when you're free, then", which I didn't answer at all.
A couple more days go by, and he sent, "When can we go to dinner?". Again, I answered, "I'm sorry, I can't".
Silence for days and days, until I get one last email saying, "I really wish you could be a grownup about this and just tell me you're not interested in me. I don't appreciate this game playing and just need you to tell me if you're not interested in hanging out with me. If you're not, we could still be friends".
Ok, now I think that anyone with any people skills would have realized after the first "no" that I wasn't digging it. And at the very least I REALLY don't think I was game playing, I mean I kept saying "no". I never said "maybe later" or "now's not a good time" or any of that crap, I just said "sorry, no". And lastly, what the fuck, "even if you're not interested in hanging out with me, we could still be friends"?
So I answered simply "I'm not interested in hanging out with you", he answered "Thank you for being adult", and that is the story of Mattenstock.
posted by The Noillyprat Cat @ 6:25 PM
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