• Victoria Nachos

Vancouver Dating Blog: Optimistic Snowballs and Disappointing Booty-Calls

Enthusiasm and excitement in dating can be very snowball-esque. A little super-charged enthusiasm here, a smidge of fantastic flirting there, and suddenly you're wading knee deep in a river of OMG what was I thinking?! Or, at least that's how it is for me, and to be honest, I blame my eternal optimism for this (no matter how many of you think I'm a negative ass bitch lol).


CryBabyRomeo and I had gone on on Sunday night and had a great first date (admittedly it started slow but it ended with icing sugar kisses which is pretty cute)


By Tuesday, he was texting and it was playful and cute but I was busy.


He texted again on Wednesday. This time, it was tedious and at some point, I'm fairly certain, I actually asked what he was doing and his response was staring at a wall. And not to be one to let the conversation wallow or hold my tongue, I proceeded to ask then why don't you seem more interested in this conversation? His response not in the mood I guess. And with shit like that, I was out. I mean, was he fucking kidding me?!?!


But here's the thing of the thing: I have a theory about bootycalls and how having one can drastically improve your dating life because it takes the pressure off the other dudes you are dating (and might actually be interested in) thus keeping you from doing any of the lust-induced ridiculous crazy-dater behaviours that we've all done once or twice before.  And so from somewhere deeply foolish idiotic ridiculous optimistic inside myself, I thought well I had found him to be cute, he was taller than me, the first kiss was good, and dammit if he didn't have great teeth.  *cue the rolling of an optimistic snowball*


On Thursday, he texted again and even though I was busy that night, he was putting in some good effort to be interesting again.


On Friday, he officially stepped his game up (or I lowered mine to the floor, tough to say). Through some miracle (for him of course), I agreed to let CryBabyRomeo come over to my place to watch a movie. I spent the day full of optimism as I cleaned my apartment and got ready for my date. What started as a tiny, optimistic thought of "this might not be bad," had snowballed into "you know I think I kind of like him" by the time our date rolled around. But then, at the bottom of the hill (to keep the snowball metaphor going) was a bath of hot water because when he arrived at 7pm for our date, what followed was a serious of disappointments:

*cue elevator doors opening*  

Wasn't he a lot taller on the first date?

Jesus he looks really thin?

Uh...take out your headphones asshole, I'm standing right here?

OMG...is he wearing sweatpants?

With leather shoes?

Am I being punked?

Am I being punished?

*crickets* 

*crickets*

*crickets*

This is so awkward...

*cue him mocking the size of my on-campus studio apartment* 

*cue silence*

*forever silence*

*endless silence*

*the kind of silence that would drive even a mime crazy*

This is torture

And then he picked a Chris Rock movie.  

*cue 2 hours of him laughing hysterically at all kinds of not funny things*

*cue him texting or messing around on his phone or things that are rude*


The movie (finally!) ends but he doesn't get up to leave and this moment here is where somehow that optimistic snowball starts rolling again. I mean, sure, maybe it turns out the whole first date was some figment of my imagination because this couldn't possibly be the same guy I had had chuckles with, unless of course it turns out that our witty repartee was actually just me telling jokes and him laughing along. Sure, okay, he's turned out to be yet another dude who thinks it's acceptable to wear jogging pants on a second date and no this trauma is in no way negated by the fact that the date was a movie night. Sure, okay, maybe he turns out to be incredibly rude and boring and tedious and also kind of an idiot since none of the parts he was laughing out were ever actually funny. But hey...maybe he'll be a really good kisser...and maybe he'll make an excellent bootycall and hey isn't this what young guys are for? (my optimism is superhero-esque in all that it is able to carry on through).

And I know what you're thinking. 

She's not going to, is she?  



What can I say, I was high on optimism. The truth is, I laid there awkwardly in some sort of big spoon to his little spoon situation for another ten minutes before he finally pounced. He turned to me on the bed and while I was expecting the icing sugar kisses of our first date, he plied me the weight of a thousand bad decisions.


I'm not even joking. It's like he was on top of me but he wasn't. I honestly don't know exactly what was happening but it's possible I was in some sort of pseudo lover's headlock. What I DO know!?! Is that at one point I actually smacked my head against the wall because it had taken that much force to wedge it away from his misguided attention.


And then here's where it's like I was rolling my optimistic snowball back up a mountain, slowly, laboriously. After all, I had committed to this goal, and just as I was approaching the top of the mountain and could breathe easy...oh my god. it's rolling towards me. it's going to topple me. crush me. and then it does only it takes me with it and before I even have a chance to catch my breath the snowball is dragging me down the hill over and over and over again.



You see.  In some sort of lightening quick motion we had gone from bad kissing to tops off to ridicoulsy misguided and uncrossing pizza dough kneading rough in all the wrong ways with my tits.


And I know what you're thinking.


You told him to stop right?

You sent his ass packing right?

There's no way you slept with him right?


And my optimistic head hangs in shame. And not because I had a one-off, but because I'm officially part of the problem. I rewarded his revolting behavior with sex.  


And here's the even worse part. We weren't that far in before I realized the snowball had obliterated me down the hill and I know longer wanted to play outside in the snow. But, like how do you get out of that?!?! And on the one hand, the feminist in me says you put a stop to it immediately, you tell the boy you're not feeling it, and you send him on his way.


But sometimes you can't think that fast.


And sometimes it's just not that easy.


And there's still always that goddamn optimism that thinks it'll get better,if you just...if you get him to just...aww fuck just cum already so I can go to sleep yo...and quit fucking poking my uterus you moron.  And that was really it too. If I was turned on maybe his long dick wouldn't have been such a problem. But I wasn't. And so it was. And speaking of long it fucking went on forever.


After we had finished (and I use the term we loosely, as I clearly did not finish) and gotten dressed, he just sat there on my bed, as if waiting for a chat or something. I'm not even joking, I was literally ready to start tapping my wrist to mimic a watch with the international sign language for let's fucking go buddy. Luckily he eventually got the hint and hit the bricks. Ooph.




*originally published 03/02/2012

 

Subscribe Form

©2020 by Something She Said. Proudly created with Wix.com