If we met a guy like Gaston today, how would we respond?
How would we like to respond?
Think on that for a while.
If we met a guy like Gaston today, how would we respond?
How would we like to respond?
Think on that for a while.
For some reason, I genuinely want friends, and I rather want males to leave me alone in the dating realm of life. I usually struggle even talking with guys who show interest in me, until they seem to understand clearly that I am not interested (a process which usually includes utter bluntness, ignoring, a combination of the two, and possibly many other negative-type events). So, it always feels like I just wants guys to leave me alone – I don’t want to date anyone, so let it go, give it up -, but I’m fine with having friends and acquaintances, and actually prefer that to dating.
Yet I want to be with someone.
I think that 1) I am crazy, and 2) I am already in the mindset of being with that certain someone, whoever it is, because I feel so confident that it will be unbelievably obvious when the time comes that we finally meet and are ready to be together, that we are the ones for one another. So, in a way, I’m already having a relationship with this someone – or myself, if I am the only one meant for me after all -, and so I naturally am bothered by guys expressing interest in me. I already have someone, or else I won’t ever be having someone, so leave me be (on that front, anyway).
Yeah, so I suppose I have established that I am, indeed, just a little bonkers, then. 😛
A sort of short story about a girl’s casual, 30-second train of thought.
“…I go on a job interview there, and that’s how we finally meet up, and discover that we really do like one another in a dating capacity. And so, I start working over there, and we start dating. That’s easy enough, you see,” says Eliza.
“Okay…” replies Karen speculatively. “And then?”
“Well, and then we realize that we totally love one another,” continues Eliza, “and we’re ready to get married. But the question is whether we get married here or over there. If we got married there, it would be totally classy and cool, but then all of my family and friends here likely would miss out. But then, I think, what people here do I really care about having at my wedding? Most of them would be invited only so I could show off my amazing husband and wedding to them, anyway. And wouldn’t it be accomplishing the same thing by getting married in Europe instead, where my husband is from? It shows how he’s exotic, and so am I, getting married over there. Plus, then all the ladies could wear their fabulous hats and everything would be so chic and practically straight out of some fashion magazine.
“I would have a dress that is inspired from the princesses’ wedding dresses in London over the years, with a hint of French flare and loads of my own personality, all tied together beautifully and stunningly.”
Karen cuts her off, “You have the dress planned already?”
“Well, I’m not sure about the whole thing exactly, but I know how the sleeves would look, and they’re spectacular and classy. And YES, they do exist, despite all this recent fashion of sleeveless wedding dresses. So not my style.”
Karen shakes her head, and takes a sip of tea as Eliza continues.
“Anyway, so that could be cool. And we’d have a super-fab old Church for the wedding, and that would be amazing and not cliché, because it’s actually just normal in Europe. But then, we’d have to have some kind of something here in the US afterward. I’m not sure what, exactly, but something to celebrate specifically with everyone here who couldn’t make the trip. But nothing lame. Too many people do a lame ‘Oh, we couldn’t invite all of you to the wedding, but we still want to celebrate with you’. Aka ‘Give us presents, even though you weren’t good enough to be invited to the wedding.’ Not to be harsh, but you get the point…”
“Who’s she talking about?” whispers Lorena, who has just returned from flirting at the tea bar.
“The guy from the photo I showed you yesterday,” replies Karen, sighing. Lorena accepts this, and begins to process what Eliza is saying.
“Then we’d continue living over there, and it’d be perfect, because it lines up with my wanting to live over there, and we’d be so close for an easy trip up to visit Christine and her husband whenever we wanted for a long weekend or whatever. Or I could go alone super easily.”
Astounded, Lorena cuts in, “You mean you’ve already decided on wedding plans with this guy?! You haven’t even gone on a date, yet!”
“He hasn’t even asked her out,” chuckles Karen.
Only slightly defensively, Eliza replies cooly, “Well, if we can’t agree on a wedding location and place to live, then it isn’t really worth bothering dating in the first place, now is it? We’d be wasting our time if we knew so soon that it never would work out, yet went forward with it all, anyway.”
“She has a point,” allows Karen, raising her eyebrows.
After a pause, Lorena replies, “True… I still hold that you’re nuts, Eliza.”
“I’ll second that,” throws in Karen.
“Third it!” laughs Eliza. “Oh, I know I’m totally nuts. That’s why it’s so important that a guy and I be compatible through and through before we bother starting anything.”
They erupt in giggles and laughter, enjoying the ridiculousness of the conversation, and knowing how true Eliza’s statement really is.
“Weirdo,” says Lorena, playfully. “Okay, let’s have some lunch. I’m hungry, and now all I can think about is smoked salmon…”
The other two frown questioningly at her.
“What? You were talking about weddings. Weddings always make me think of smoked salmon.”
Lorena laughs, “Whatever.”
People always seem to ask me my type. Possibly, this is more of a recent thing, as it is one of the top questions Japanese high school students ask, and I don’t really remember having considered the question’s answer more than once or twice before this past year. Nonetheless, it has been on my mind for quite some time now.
The deal is that I have never really known a type for my own interests. I find attractive to be attractive. Period. However, I have been recently distinguishing even further the difference between being attracted to someone and that of wanting to be with someone. On this distinguishing inquiry, I have at last found one definite common factor between men when I instantly find attractive, and with whom I always want to develop a relationship of some sort (even just a friendship), and often actively pursue. That factor? Being tall. It’s not that I don’t find men I average height to be attractive – I definitely do find them quite attractive on a regular basis. However, I tend to have a quite strong desire at least to be around handsome men who are also tall. I have found shorts men to be handsomer than taller men, and yet the taller attractive guy always holds my attention much better.
Just something I discovered/noticed this weekend.
A friend of mine suggested I write about dating life in a foreign country. However, I cannot entirely speak to the subject, because 1) I have not dated anyone here, and 2) I haven’t really dated people back home either.
However…., I do have some interesting dating and dating-ish stories I could share. So, I’ll do that instead. 🙂
We’ll begin with my first date, as it was, indeed, an odd beginning to an odd history of dating.
My high school boyfriend and I split up the summer before college, out of being reasonable. How it happened is a story for another time, though, as it is well worth telling, but just not now. We remain to this day friends, and so were on good terms as the summer neared its end. One day, when we were in the same place, John (that’s his name, you see) did something adorably wonderful. He asked me on a date. No, I do not remember the exact words he used, however, I remember that he did use explicit words quite similar to, “Would you go out on a date with me?”
While we had been a couple, we had often laughed at the fact that we had never been on a single date. Every time we were arranging something that would have ended up as a date, we found ourselves desperately longing to invite so-and-so to come, because he/she would just LOVE it, or something like that. It wasn’t that we didn’t want to be alone together. It was merely that we love our friends and we are generous. Also, a good amount of the time, my mom would be with us for things. She often would be planning something really neat, and I would be going with her, and one of us would think of how John might enjoy the activity, too, and then either pick him up or have him meet us somewhere to join in the activity. A lot of people found it odd that my boyfriend and I (and often my friends, too) did so much with my mom, but it was just way fun for all of us. That being said, most John’s and my one-on-one time was spent standing outside his house as I was about to drive home at night, and never on actually going out to do anything (i.e. dates).
So, he asked me on a date. The plan was to go out to dinner at this great vegetarian Indian restaurant near my house, and then to go to see a musical together downtown. John was driving (and not I for once). When he came to get me for dinner, it was sprinkling beautifully, and we somehow ended up going swimming (or at least playing in the backyard in the rain) instead, and my mom went and picked up food for us. The three of us then had dinner at my house together. At the musical, the two seats that John had purchased (with the help of his father) turned out to be across the wheelchair section from one another, leaving a gap of about a meter between our two seats. I squat on the ground next to his seat for a bit, and then I think we eventually moved to a couple of other empty seats, so we actually could sit side-by-side. It was a fabulously tragic date, which we both absolutely loved, because it was so terrible on paper, but so delightful in experience.
And that was date #1.
A few years ago, I attended something called VIRTUS Training. It is essentially a seminar for people who will be working at schools, for them to learn about identifying child sexual abuse. In other words, it was a seminar on child sexual abuse. It was at this wonderful seminar that I met my second date – or so I believe it was my second date, anyway. He was sitting near me in the training, and I think wasn’t even in my discussion group. However, we exchanged various faces at different things throughout the evening, and ended up in conversation afterward. After probably a good half hour of talking outside afterward, he very beautifully expressed that he had enjoyed talking with me very much, and would I like to continue talking over dinner some time soon? I agreed, and I gave him my number in order to arrange the dinner at another time.
For the dinner, he told me that he was “old fashioned”, and so was it alright that he pick me up for the date? I originally agreed happily. However, my sister told me it was a terrible idea, and got me all nervous, because I didn’t really know this guy, and what if it went horribly? (It went wonderfully, but still, she got me nervous nonetheless.) But my worries proved pointless, because, as I had just purchased my new car the day of our date, I had to take it for my family to see (and test drive, of course), which put me behind schedule for our date. Since that was the case, I just met him at a restaurant midway between where I was in town and where he lived, so he didn’t have to wait so long nor have to drive all the way to my house (which was quite far for him).
I eventually ran into him again while I was still working at Starbucks, but it was quite busy at the time, and so we really didn’t get to chat (though I totally wanted to do so). I had not saved his number, and so couldn’t call or message him again after that. (Sometimes, you just don’t plan on getting a new phone before you’ve saved a number, ya know?)
And that is what came of date #2, when I met a guy at a child sexual abuse seminar.
My third date, in my opinion, is the best of the three – yes, there have only been three – and also the most uncertain. It is uncertain, because I simply hadn’t known that it was a date, and I’m still not certain as to whether it was a date. You may judge for yourself as to whether it was a date or not. 😉
In France, there is a wonderful carpooling website, which helps anyone travel almost anywhere normal in France (and even to nearby destinations in neighboring countries). I used it constantly for travel while I studied in Toulouse, and therefore used it again when I went to visit a couple summers ago. It was in this carpooling from Paris to Toulouse that I met this party boy.
We didn’t talk much on the drive (I slept mostly, and he talked with the other passengers.), but we did a bit near the end, and he asked for my Facebook. I felt no aversion to the guy, although I knew that we led very different lifestyles, his being a party boy and my being…. well, just not. I like dancing and music and all, but not the drinking like crazy part. He had even offered me a section of his sandwich on the ride. because, I know you, so, of course, we’d share your sandwich. 😛 I liked the guy, despite our obvious differences. He was just really open and friendly and honest.
And, as a bonus, quite handsome. Think tall, dark and fancy hair, tanned skin, and quite fit. Yes, he could carry me quite easily in his arms. (I have no idea why that is something I notice about guys – whether they could carry me or not. I just always notice it.)
Turned out that his apartment was literally the next street over from the AirBnB where I ended up staying. Via texting, he asked if I wanted to get a bite to eat with him one night. Yes, of course. (I’d be eating alone otherwise, and he had been great company already.) ‘Do you want to meet me somewhere, or should I pick you up on my scooter?’ Scooter, please. (One of my dreams in life has been to ride a scooter with a cute guy in Europe, thanks to MaryKate and Ashley.)
So, he picked me up on his scooter, and drove me to a cool restaurant in a part of town I’ve always loved. We sat outside, and it was fabulous. I had him order for me whatever he thought was best to have. I’m usually more of the raw vegan diet type, but I roll with the culture these days, so I graciously accepted a delicious and innerly-pink steak. We chatted and had a great time, and when he went in to pay, I followed a bit behind, and asked what I owed. He, a bit surprised, said that I owed nothing, as he was paying for everything. It was my turn to be surprised, but I did not even consider that this was a date – perhaps he’s just really nice to the foreigner girl visiting his hometown.
And so, we went and got some beers from a store, and he showed me around his huge, old-fashioned apartment, which he shared with this rich guy with a really nice car, as he put it (I don’t remember what the car was, but it was legitimately a very expensive car.). We hung out and talked, and it was totally great. When I finally reached home, and told him that I was home safely, he sent me a message that had me suddenly see the evening in a slightly – meaning entirely – different light. It was in a light and friendly way, and even with a wink smiley face, so it was not meant to be nasty or inappropriate. However, he said that ‘he would have preferred that I had stayed there.’ Oh, my… At last I came to the sudden idea that this might actually have been a date. I then got super excited that I was not only on my third date ver (Whoohoo!), but on a date with a gorgeous French guy, and IN French. How cool is that?! Way cool. Seriously. It was awesome. Dreams fulfilled that I hadn’t even dreamed up yet.
And that was date #3. I think, anyway. 😛
Those have been my three official-ish dates (I’m still not sure about that third one). They were each wonderful in their own ways, and I find none of them to be too standard (slash at all standard). I loved each and every one, and I look forward to raising the bar each time to more ridiculous scenarios surrounding my dating life. (I need to share about my coffee dates and the likes, too. Those have been fun, for sure, and very international.)
I’m super tired now, so I’m going to sleep. However, I plan to continue with the coffee dating and other date-related things that weren’t actually dates. 🙂
I think I could date a trombone player. Listening to a performance today, I was almost in love and lust already. I had never heard such a beautiful sound come from a trombone (at least, not one right in front of me). Uh, gosh… fantastic was that experience. I never thought a trombone player would be my style. However, if he plays with the kind of sound (tone quality) I heard today, then it’s a definite mark in his favor.
I mean, I actually almost want to date a trombone player now. And I’m a trumpet player. It was that amazing.
Tonight, for whatever reason (aside from the part where one thought links loosely to the next, those tiny threads of ideas drawing you quickly along the ever-unexpected path with them, until you eventually find yourself miles from the original thought, wondering how on Earth you got there), I was reminded of something I wrote a while back. As I mentioned to my friend when I sent it to her, it is rather messy, and it just kind of came out of me. One day, the words were just in my head, as though urging me to write them down, and so I did really quickly… It was almost like an ‘I have to do it now’ experience.
I have various theories as to how the story came to me, as well as to why my mind wanted me to write it down on paper (yes, the original is with paper and pen, not computer), but I find them unnecessary to include here, as none of them was present when I actually had the story pouring out of me that odd morning (odd, due to this near-overwhelming necessity to write this story, which had never quite happened to me in such a way until that day).
Anyway, it is sad – dreadfully sad to me, anyway – and it is terrible, and it is a miniature story that asked me to write it down, and somehow got back into my head tonight to get me to share it with the world (well, whatever portion of it will cross this weblog posting, at least). Enjoy… or whatever… you know…
“No,” declared Jessica, exasperated, “I’m not going to call him.”
Yet, even as she spoke, she knew deep down that she would be with him again. So she wouldn’t call him…, but she’d said nothing about texting. Or his calling her.
Soon enough, perhaps in a matter of hours, she’d be with him again. And then, in a matter of minutes, she’d be lying there alone, feeling gross, almost wanting to hurl. Or else hurl something… he wouldn’t hold her, no matter how she wished it. He never did… But, for a few moments, she would feel the pressure of him resting on her chest, and it almost would feel as though it were intentional, as though there were someone – right here and now – who wanted to be with her, who cared for her, who loved her.
Though she knew it wasn’t so.
“This is so messed up,” she would say to him… And she would mean it.
And yet she couldn’t stop herself.
He was in need, and she could help. Besides, she had been curious in the first place. Now she knew. Perhaps that was a good thing. If nothing else. And an icy feeling told her there was nothing else good about it all.
Jessica wouldn’t see how he only appeared to be in need – she was too trusting of him and his word; she had looked up to him for too long to question what he expressed to her. And so, in her time of extreme need for love, she would leave the love of her friends to go to him, and be robbed of what little she still had, knowingly sacrificing her own happiness and love to help, to serve, to please another.