I rejected him twice. He was good looking and fun, but weird and maybe too into himself and a little oblivious to where he was dumb. He let ideas out that’d make me cringe, for example, “Small businesss are the backbone of our economy” because he was proud to work for a sales software company and also because he was a wannabe politician, who put on his profile that he almost ran for local office but later volunteered a complete explanation: he considered and unconsidered a run in one, singular conversation with his dad (but he took that consideration very! seriously). He bragged about his connections to his neighborhood, which were all of a friendly Marina bartender here or there. Eventually, he’d ask me for feedback on his personality.
He let me know that he saw me out at dinner, with friends at a sidewalk table on Chestnut Street. I was two seats away from a boy I had crushed on for months, whose eyes lit up when I sat down, whose eyes were still glowing like embers. Still, I responded to that text and flirted and after a long night out, sent the crush home in an Uber alone.
I saw Marina boy again today. Running along the water. I texted him to flirt. I don’t know why.
The next night:
“You know those things people say to you that describe you so perfectly, they stick with you? A roommate once described me as an expert at being an amateur because I try so many hobbies.”
He goaded each of us to say our own, pressing me that I must have one: I do, when someone sees me clearly, it’s a “you are very wise” after a deep conversation
There’s something really nice about getting into bed with yourself when your legs are freshly shaved, feeling the smooth skin of your left calf glide against your right shin, a coziness like clean sheets.
When your blog post about using a necklace to get guys, gets you guys…
I don’t understand the concept of a one night stand. Like, if you had good sex, why wouldn’t you have more?
I went out with two guys I met on the street. Literally on the street. I had just graduated, I had a rule about not dating co-workers, and I was anti dating apps, so when one asked, I figured, how else am I expecting to meet someone? It was a weird thing to do. Twice. I went out with the second one twice.
I just can’t get myself to wear a bra to a date. Maybe it’s after-hours exhibitionism, maybe it’s the scarring, skin-sucking strapless bras that pair with nice tops, maybe it’s the open vibe of my boobs hanging freely underneath my shirt: maybe I just want a boy who accepts me as I am.