Monday, July 13, 2009

Ding, dong, The Editor's dead.

Well, he'd damn well better be--I haven't heard from him in a week.

(Warning:  This post has nothing to do with vegetarianism.)

When last we left our intrepid Dating Vegetarian (me), The Editor had come over for dinner on Monday night.  Before he left my house, we made plans for Thursday.  "I'll give you a call later this week," he said.

Thursday, no call.  

"No biggie," I thought.  "I'll just go to bed early, and tomorrow I'll reap the benefits of him feeling like a terrible person for standing me up!"

But there was no call on Friday.  I texted--no response.

Saturday, I called.  Didn't leave a message.  No response.

Last night, at the end of my rope, I called and left a message.  It could have gone a few different ways--I vacillated between some variation on the following themes:

1.  "Eff you!  Stick it in your ear!  Your mom!"
2.  "::sniffsniff::  Just wondering why I haven't heard from you...I miss you...call me, please..."
3.  "You know what?  There are better ways to handle what's going on here.  Calling me is the right thing to do, and you know it.  If you think this is the best you can do, I'm not going to try to change your mind, but I think I deserve some closure."

Yes, I opted for choice 3.  

I know, I know.  I should have played the Cool Girl and never called him.  But guess what?  I am NOT cool.  Not at all.  I do crossword puzzles and I like "The Jerk" and I eat cereal 3 meals a day.  So I did what I had to do, even though I know it's not right for everyone.

(I like how I'm making myself sound completely coherent and calm in this little personal essay.)

(Don't you love blogging??  I do.)

I'm feeling pretty okay about life today, but there were tears shed at the expense of this a-hole.
  
(Can you believe it??  I can't.)

Moral of the story, we went out on 14 dates--in my mind, that's definitely within the range of expecting to be told that we're breaking up, rather than him taking the "witness protection program" route.

I'd consider myself a highly suspicious person, and I really didn't have much of an indication that I'd never hear from him again.  I mean, there were a few moments of "hmmm...really?", but in general, things seemed to be scootching along pretty smoothly.  I certainly never put pressure on him, I didn't see my unborn children in his eyes (gag), I didn't even refer to him as my "boyfriend" (mostly because I hate that word).  He just disappeared like the fine morning mist.

Granted, he might be dead, trapped in a cage somewhere, or paralyzed from the neck down, but I'm pretty sure things are over.

SO.  I did what any self-respecting Blogstress (yes, Blogstress) would do.   

I called The Aviator.

More on that as it develops.

And for the sake of my financial investment, I got back on eHarmony a minute ago.  Wading through the dunes of inadequate men, I started to realize a common theme--I'm getting "closed" by guys that I wouldn't even consider dating.  

WHAT???  Don't they know who I am?!?

My favorite is a man named Larry.  He's 42, his profile picture features his truck, and as his occupation, he has listed "I am cable sales."

Really, Larry?  You are cable sales?  

Best of all, he has closed me out because--and this response was chosen from a long list of choices provided by eHarmony, lest you think Larry is suddenly halfway articulate--"based in statements in the profile, the difference in our values is too great".  

DO YOU THINK SO, LARRY??  

I'm just very frustrated with the whole eHarmony scenario right now--they're matching me up with guys who are considerably younger than I am, or considerably older than I am, or with whom I am clearly not compatible on any level.  Worst of all, the last thing I needed to see when I opened my account was the following:

CLOSED
CLOSED
CLOSED
CLOSED
CLOSED
CLOSED
CLOSED
CLOSED

Because with every shmuckatelli that closes me out, that's one step closer to 

DYING
ALONE
IN
A
TRAILER
FULL
OF
CATS

I'm going to drink some wine now, I think.  And maybe eat some ice cream.  And call my best friend and cry, because if I'm already a walking cliche, I might as well just hit it out of the park.








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