Now that Summer has decidedly fallen on its face, everyone has dusted off their umbrellas and neatly packed away their shorts for a much needed 9 month vacation, it's finally time to start emptying our emotional baggage in preparation for the start of Seasonal Affected-mood Disorder season.I will start mine off in a typically American fashion, with the disclaimer: If you ask anyone, my friends, family, and even former significant others, I am a good person. I try to be sensitive, caring, understanding, supportive; a real stand-up guy. But I've never been good with relationships; I have dated only a hand-full of women, and typically have gotten shat on in the process. Needless to say these sparse relationships have never ended on my terms.
It's now been about three years since I have seriously dated someone, and dare I say it...about a year and a half since I have had sexual intercourse. Now don't get me wrong, I am a relatively decent looking man, have no problem with social interaction or suffer from medically problematic halitosis. In fact, contrary to what my record suggests, I have participated in sporadic bouts of foreplay in the meantime. Without the blessing of a square jaw or cut physique though, it has been difficult to convince a woman that I am worthy of passing the genetic torch with outside of the social confines of a relationship; not that friends and associates joking that I'm playing for the wrong team has helped either.
Why all of this elaborate exposition? Because in the innocent pursuit of the elusive petite mort I may have used someone, and worse yet, hurt their feelings. To cut to the chase, the person in question was a co-worker of mine, who we'll call "Stacy", that:
- Has/had feelings for me
- Recently broke up with her significant other
- Was quitting and moving away to a far off place, making the likelihood of us ever seeing each other again somewhere between zero and none.
This should have been a win-win situation for both parties.
The story goes: After having a few too many drinks with my co-workers at a bar I spent the night at her house; which was weird. Nothing crazy happened, I felt bad about the situation so I got Stacy's phone number and said I would call her. Eventually I made the call, I went out with her and some of her friends, she hung on me, held my hand and seemingly did everything in her power to make me feel like I was in some kind of claustrophobic relationship with her; which was weirder. I spent another tame night at Stacy's house again, at her behest. The next day she called me, I told her I was going out with Bright Eyes to a specific club and that she could meet me there if she wanted. As the night progressed I saw the bottom of more than a few tumblers but didn't see Stacy until she announced her presence by accidentally spilling her drink on me. I didn't remember anything after that until the next morning when I woke up in my bed with Stacy next to me; which was the weirdest. She called me later that day, but I was in no condition to even fall out of bed. The following day Stacy packed all of her belongings up and left the city.
There are three key themes to the preceding sequence of events:
- Alcohol putting me in regrettable situations
- Me being weirded out
- No one getting laid, specifically myself.
Call me selfish, egotistical or just an asshole, but I don't think I acted inappropriately during my limited time with Stacy, others may disagree, which is why I feel somewhat bad. I probably should call her to set things straight, but I'm still pretty much weirded out. Not only can I not meet anyone worth dating, I'll probably go without sex for another year and a half. Such is life.
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