Le sigh. Tonight, I went on a date, like a normal human who does things twenty somethings are supposed to do instead of the basket case who I indisputably am inside. I was slightly nervous but mostly pissy beforehand; I don't feel like making smalltalk, this is going to be awkward, can't I just stay home in bed, general being a misanthrope.
Victoria called me as I was getting ready, I clearly got way more into talking to her than I was into getting ready. Wore an outfit that was presentable human and neat but not at all trying to be hot slash sexy. Like jeans and socks and boots and a long sleeved shirt and a sweater vest because even though I'm from Wisconsin I've become a BABY in these almost six years in California, and I feel the need to dress warmly when it's...cloudy.
The lyft driver didn't know where he was going, and I didn't notice because I was on the phone talking with Vico about how we don't really want kids or domestic lives and are thus glad that we don't have to worry about traditional life timelines. You know, the usual. She had to go, I directed the lyft driver back to where we were supposed to be going, the hip brew pub where I suggested to meet said fellow, and by that time I had no more space for angst so I just had to walk in to meet the guy.
It went great as first dates go. Not awkward, we talked the whole time, (3.5 hours, a possible record for me) opened up, talked some shit on society, navigated the road between oh we are picking topics and ah things are just flowing, everyone laughed a lot, got several drinks and some food, everyone is happy, great. He drove me home, I communicated how nice it was but promptly exited the car to leave no room for sleeping with anyone on the first date, and entered my house.
Promptly upon entering my home, I yelled to empty house: fuck you, ** *******.
This is not the name of the person I was on a date with.
If you couldn't figure that out from the tone.
I mean, I shouldn't be angry. First of all, we are still talking. So like, I'm technically a player which I should be proud of. But.
I should be happy, that I've gotten to a point where I can look good as in neat and presentable but not feel like I have to wear a hot dress on a first date. I should be happy that I am so newly capable of being myself and have people clearly like me upon meeting me. And that my standards are raised to the point where I'll only agree to go on dates with intelligent humans. And that I not only hold the ability but also the desire to not sleep with someone on the first date. Like really actively do not want to. This is all growth, and clearly connected to the months spent interacting with,
In the long run, it'll be good, I'm sure. To sense when people enjoy your company but to hold something in reserve and not care so much and let them come to you because you know you're worth it and all the according bullshit that everyone else has already learned. And it isn't bullshit, I guess, it's the stuff of life and making connections that aren't mostly messed up.