Come Back Charlies (Part V)

I like a good recap.  Everybody likes a good recap.  Because even as I tell these stories.  In real life.  To my friends.  To myself.  Silently in my head.  It gets a bit confusing.  Who was who?  Who came back when.  Who was super ridiculous.  Who was the most ridiculous of them all.  So before I tell you about Charlie #4 (a man you've all grown to...well...not totally sure...but someone you'll recognize).  Here is the recap.  Of the Come Back Charlies:

Charlie #1:  The Oxymoronic Lawyer and his return in Parts I and Parts II
Charlie #2:  Mr. Basketball
Charlie #3:  The TACTician aka Mr. Tacky aka The Old Guy
and finally
Charlie #4:  And so the story goes...

It had been two weeks.  To exact weeks.  To the day.  I mean honestly, I can't make this shit up.  And on the one hand.  It was a total surprise.  Because of course.  He had said there was something missing.  A spark?  Chemistry?  I had asked.  If that's what you want to call it he had said.  But then truth be told.  I had assumed it was an attraction thing.  I had assumed he'd never been with a chubby bunny before.  And after catching a glimpse of me sans shirt.  He'd changed his mind.  Not the girl for him.  Attraction nil.  

On the other hand.  I wasn't surprised at all.  Because of course.  He'd liked me.  I was certain.  The irony is at the time it never really occurred to me that a person might not know what the fuck they want.  I mean after all this dude wasn't 22.  He was fucking 38.  He had a grown up job and a kid (are you starting to see who it is? lol).  I mean.  I know what it is to be 25 and not know what the fuck is going on.  I can even fathom that at 30 there will be some that are still confused.  Still uncertain.  I'm not saying you'll always HAVE what you want.  But at the very least you'll have a picture in your mind of what it might look like.  But to be 38 and clueless.  I mean shit son.  How does that even happen.  And thus I give you....

TheNickName.  Come Back Charlie #4.  The Cat Came Back The Very Next Day 2 Weeks Later.

Hey you!! :) It said.  His message to me on Plenty of Fish.  How's things?  Ha ha, Back to school!  And I should have done nothing.  But well.  Unlike the other boys.  The other Come Back Charlies.  TheNickName was IRL (in real life) for me.  We had gone out.  We had hung out.  We had made out.  And now that I was indeed back in school.  And had pretty much forsaken dating and the blog for the time being (I wasn't totally sure how one could exist without the other).  The idea of bringing a man off the bench.  Bringing a horse out of the stable.  Well that sounded like a damn good idea.  Plus ya know.  I wanted to know what was going on.  2 weeks ago.  Now.  What had changed.  What was different.  What did he want?  And so I messaged back.  Tried to keep it breezy but conversational.


Hey :)
Things with me are fantastic (as usual lol) and though a longer break would've
been awesome...yes lol I am back at school.  How are things with you?  How 
was the rest of your Xmas/New Year's?

And then he responded.  Right away with

That's awesome.  Xmas and New Years was good.  Lots of daughter's name time.
How was New Years with your ex?  What mid term grades did you get?  A's I'm
guessing!

But wait? what?  Does anyone find the thing about New Year's with my ex a little bit weird.  That's what he remembers?  Something that got mentioned once, in passing, in our final phone call.  AFTER he had said he didn't want to date me anymore because he felt something was missing.  Really?  really?  But I kept it breezy.  And honestly, honest.  Because truth be told, he had been there all that last month while writing papers and taking exams.  So I kind of did want to tell him all about my grades.  Lame I know.

Aww I bet daughter's name loved that :)

lol you have such a good memory for things I say...NYE with my ex was good
...my grades were the best yet (I'm so proud which hopefully discounts this
sounding like bragging and making me look like a douche) but I got 2 A-s and 
an A+ (I'm so proud lol...It's the highest grade I've ever gotten)...and to have
gotten it as a final grade means even more...Harvard here I come!...okay I'm 
kind of joking about Harvard...but still...who knew right!?!?!?


Harvard would be missing out, without you!  I'm glad your grades went awesome.
So were you planning on the ex time before our time together?  Yah I guess, cause
you went to Seattle 2 days later.

Wait.  What?!?!  Why all the harping on the ex?  The irony is how he'd mentioned at some point how he can't stand jealousy and wasn't a jealous person himself.  And yet.  Really?  really?  And the thing of the thing is.  I don't even mind jealousy.  In fact I think people who claim they never feel jealous are liars.  Show me your stripes.  All the colors.  The bad and the good.  Show me your true stripes and I can understand you.  Empathize with you.  Deal with you.  But pretend to be something.  And not only do you irritate me but I full on dislike you and finally, don't trust you.  If you can't be honest with yourself, how are you going to be honest with me?

I didn't answer his message for awhile.  I was thinking.  I was purposely making him wait.  I was partly as bored with the whole situation as I am now typing it.  The truth of the matter is.  In the space of those two weeks.  He'd become what I either was to him.  Or possibly much less.  He was a means to an end.  A dude I was attracted to who I felt had the potential to scratch an itch.  And then he texted.  And then he instant messaged on POF and sadly that ends my exact recounting of our interaction.  Because unlike messages, you can't keep the instant message script.  So now three weeks later I'm going to try and give you the gist of what was said.

He was 100% attracted to me.  Thought I was a babe.  Super sexy.  Also I think he used the word sweet too.  Basically I'm awesome lol.  At the time of our convo and then the next day on the phone.  I had come to the conclusion that the problem had been his jealousy/assumptions about my ex (and me).  And that in some attempt to protect himself/or because of an averse reaction to those feelings he'd cut things short.  

However, knowing what I know now.  I think he's part totally retarded and part slow and/or satisfied sex drive.  But at the time I kind of figured.  Okay well I know that dating won't work.  But *dreamy eyes* perhaps I had finally found my Golden Egg.  Someone to keep me from going insane during the school year.  Someone to gimme some man love without all the baggage.

Only the booty call satisfaction never happened.  I waited a week and a half (I was sick with a cold at the time).  Waited till the weekend.  Gave him a shout.  Have a hockey game he said.  Uh yeah I wasn't thinking until way later I have dinner plans tonight and we'll probably be out till 1ish I told him.  I'm gonna be bagged and have to get up early tomorrow to go to a job site.  Sorry!  Another time please!  And I thought.  Fuck that noise.  But well.  I was really itchy.  And I don't drink anymore.  And none of my exes live in Vancouver.  And Goddamn Mamma needed some ass.

So the next night.  After going out with a friend.  And scoping out The New Oxford for a possible location for the upcoming tweetup.  And then heading over to Society for cotton candy.  I texted.  Last time.  Last chance.  Last attempt.  This was really getting pathetic.  But at the very least I thought it would be funny.  Because after all.  What I decided to text.  To him.  Was something that had been clarified to me oh so clearly.  And though he likely wouldn't get the irony.  I thought it was delicious.  What are you wearing?


But alas.  No response came.  Done.  This was awful.  I'm a hottie.  I'm a dynamo in bed.  Chubby bunny or not I'm fucking awesome and I don't know how I got all turned around but this behavior had to stop.  But of course.  He responded.  The next morning.  With something ridiculously lame.

I was in a low cut number, with sheer and lace. lol.


I won't lie.  The petty part of me decided to be snarky.  Too bad you didn't respond last night I said.

I was out at a fundraiser.  Your outfit sounds lovely!  I had a buddy with me, and he stayed over, Sorry.


My thoughts?  Don't give a shit.  Plus...uh...wait...I didn't say what I was wearing.  Weird.  lol...maybe he's still drunk ha ha.

No worries I said I'm thinking your life is too busy for sex lol and I want it to be very present so I'm out.  And to be clear.  Yes, dear readers.  I know this was a little hysterical.  A little.  Why bother?  Just stop texting him.  But I urge you to try to understand.  This was the build up of 2 months of both sexual and mental frustration.  And quite honestly I was horny, irritated, and pissed.  So yes.  You could say I was being petty.  And annoying.  And about to get even more petty with my last and final text to him.

BTW...if you ever want to check out some of my writing just google "Something She Dated" :)  All the best kid!


And thus.  The end of TheNickName.  And essentially the moment that I decided this was fucking ridiculous. The moment that prompted another moment.  The Announcement.  So gentlemen of my future.  Gentlemen who will not be getting laid.  Gentlemen who will not be able to just "see what's what".  Gentlemen who will have blue balls.  You have TheNickName to thank.  You're welcome.

Now the thing about these Come Back Charlies is.  On the one hand.  I'm certain they're absolutely fucking retarded.  But you have to wonder.  Why me?  Why again?  Why me?  Do I smell like a second chance?  Can they taste it in the air?  Or is it that they've seen that I'm just so awesome they simply HAVE to try their hand again?  I want to believe the latter.  But the thing of the thing is.  If it was the latter.  Why didn't they just try harder the first time around.  Alas.  It must be the former.  Yet another reason I need to coat myself in HardToGet speedstick and keep the relaxed and breezy stench off of me.  Not to mention just generally roll around in some cotton candy happiness and quite dealing with this kind of ridiculousness and aggravation thrown my way (albeit permitted by my engagement with it).  But I digress.  I was done.  I am done.  With the losers.  Time to be Hard.  To.  Get.  Full stop.

Come Back Charlies (Part IV)

Continued from Come Back Charlie's (Part III)

Okay so I know what you're thinking.  Aside from I can't stand how she keeps breaking up blog posts into digestible amounts aka making me wait to read the whole story.  You're thinking.  So What?  I mean what's the big deal that the Oxymoronic Lawyer and Charlie #2 (Mr. Basketball) returned right?  Except we all know the story doesn't end there.  Can't possibly end there.  Because this is me we're talking about.  And I don't set up a big theme like this unless I have some follow through.

You can't title a group of boys the "Come Back Charlies" if there's not enough members to fill up the caucus right?  Right.  And the hilarious-ironic-coincidental-amazing-shocking-ridiculousness of these CBC's isn't just in their return.  It's the timing of return.  Because it's not like we're talking about "in the space of a year", several boys decided to try their hand again.  It was a 2 week period.  16ish days.  3 weekends (bookended).  That they all swarmed.  Like they were preparing for an earthquake and I was canned goods.  Sudden.  Out of nowhere.  Ridiculous.

And thus I bring you Charlie #3 (TheTACTician).  Oddly enough, just like Charlie #2, the chatter began a year ago as well.  And I only remember because it was right around the time of the Olympics.  I love that Vancouver 2010 Olympics are a signpost of my dating.  When Jon Montgomery won the Gold for Skeleton and did his infamous walk through the streets of Whistler and drank the pitcher of beer.  I was sitting on Garbage Man's couch.  Moments away from making out and the infamous meat talk.  I was a week or two from being blown off by Charlie #3 (TheTACTician).  Or as I referred to him at the time.  The old guy.

He was 41 or 43.  I can't totally remember.  But he was above 40 and I remember this part most clearly because I was talking about his age at the time to my cousin who thought that it was too big of an age gap...and that we'd be so obviously at completely different points in our lives.  Particularly being that he had a 17 year old kid.  Freaky.  But I digress.  It was early in my dating journey and was willing to give it a go.  We chatted a bit.  He seemed alright.  (yes...just...alright...and...yes...I was still willing to go out with him.)  I'm special like that.  It was the week after the Olympics.  We were going to do something on the weekend.  Asked for my number.  Gave him my number.  And then nothing.  That was the end.  Weekend plans never came to fruition.  In fact he never even used the phone number.  Now no biggie.  Except.  Here he was.  Come Back Charlie #3.

And he had moves.  He was suave.  Wooed me with his words.  Soothed me with his swagger.  Tamed me with his Tact.  No?  You don't believe me?  My readers are so perceptive.  Of course he didn't.  He was absolutely fucking ridiculous.  The message read something like this.

Wow.  Is it possible you're even hotter than before?

I know right?!?  So diplomatic and TACTful.  It's like a love poem.  I'm being courted by charm.  I'm being serenaded with sonnets.  I've practically got Shakespeare and Don Juan (yes I know one is real and one is fictional) penning me pages of romance novels.  Just Sayin'  Wouldn't you swoon for this shit.

The irony is that I am way hotter.  Ha Ha.  40lbs. lighter.  40 lbs. hotter.  It took all the restraint in my body not to respond snarkily with Thanks, I am and fuck off sailor, this ship has sailed.  But I didn't.  Because I've said it once (okay a hundred times) and I'll say it again.

NOBODY LIKES BITTER BETTY.  EVERYBODY LOVES NONCHALANT NANCY.  

So I said nothing.  At first.  Because like I was just telling you...I'm Engaging Edith.  Mother fucking Questioning Quinn.  I just can't help myself.  I seek answers.  And so I asked.  What had happened to him before?  And his response.  I believe possibly the weakest yet.  I mean shit boys.  I'm sure it's your morals and not sheer laziness/retardation holding you back.  But fuck.  Make SOMETHING up!  Jesus!  This was like levels of idiocy I'd never even consider.  So yeah his response?  Something like...I don't know.  Okay he didn't say I don't know.  But I can't remember the exact wording.  I do know it was the same message.  No reason basically.  Nobody died in his life.  No admission of being a scaredy cat pans (which though I mock here would still have been a possibly acceptable reason).  No I was casually dating and it suddenly got serious.  No I lost my job and couldn't bring myself to start dating someone at such a precarious time.  I would even rather have heard, I wasn't sure if I was attracted to you.  Because honestly, I feel that a lot of the time while online dating.  But nope.  Just a moronic I don't know.

And with that.  It was Control, Block, Delete.  Control my irritation.  Block his ass. and Delete all messages.  Come Back Charlie #3 (The TACTician) had gone down in flames.  And there wasn't a chance in hell that the loser of a dude I had once (in my inexperienced days) considered going out with was getting anywhere near my 40lbs. lighter, 100 times more dating smart, totally awesome ass.  Just Sayin'.

And though 2 makes a pair.  And three makes a crowd.  Three does not in fact make a caucus.  A coincidence maybe.  But not a caucus.  And thus you should be able to infer what is coming next.  You've seen it before and you'll see it again.  And though I know you hate it.  Sometimes it's a necessary evil.  At least until I write that book.  And so here it is.  Those three beautiful words.

To Be Continued.....

Come Back Charlies (Part III)

Continued from Come Back Charlies (Part II)

...But that wasn't the end of it though.  Not by a long shot.  He was just the first.  The first Come Back Charlie.  The first boy who mistook me for easy.  The first boy to return and announce by his actions (or messages as the case may be) that he was absolutely fucking retarded.  Moreover, that he thought that I, was absolutely fucking retarded but boy was he mistaken.

And I don't know who was spreading these rumors of delusion.  I don't know who was whispering in their ears. Pshh pss psst pssh ppssst You should give it another go Pshh pss psst pssh ppssst You should try her again Pshh pss psst pssh ppssst She totally gives second chances and definitely doesn't put up walls between herself and those who have jilted her.  I bet it was some magic little sprite.  Leading them all astray.  If only they knew.  But alas.  Maybe the same way Bitter Betty doesn't always know she's bitter.  Come Back Charlie's might not always know they're retarded.

And so back they came.  Charlie #2 and Charlie #3.  Both of whom were "somethings" that could have been but never were.  Maybe they lacked balls.  They were shy.  Just a case of the pans.  Maybe I was a backup chick.  A third tier.  Just a fallback and not a priority.  Maybe they were just fucking retarded.  Out of touch with the physical act of dating (that which entails a meeting).  Perhaps they simply didn't know how to plan.  Just not as smart as me.  But whatever it was.  They never made it past the first step.  Fucking babies.

Charlie #2 was the 2nd potential "something" there ever was.  After Barbie.  Before Garbage Man.  He was black.  He was hot.  He was a native ATLien.  Win.  Win.  Win.  He was 32 and tall like Kobe.  Almost.  6'4.  Close enough.  He'd played basketball at SFU (not a first for me oddly enough) and graduated with a BSc.  The wooing started with messages.  Messages led to texting.  Texting led to plans.  More than once.  And more than once those plans were broken.  And thus I'm out was my sentiment expressed.  And yet.  He still called.  And upon not getting the response he sought.  Contact stopped.  Done.

I should mention.  Just in case you're not super up to date on the whole time line that is this dating journey of mine.  This all occurred over roughly the period of November/December 2009.  So you can imagine my surprise.  When December 2010 rolls around.  For all you non-math majors that's a mother-fucking year.  A fucking year gone by and then who should stroll his ass into my POF inbox?  None other than Charlie #2 himself.  Mr. Atlanta.  Mr. Basketball.  Mr. Planning and failing himself.  I couldn't fucking believe it.  Right on the tail of The Oxymoronic Lawyer aka Charlie #1.  Here was this douche bag.  Throwing a hail mary.  On the off chance a year would have softened me??  Honestly I don't what he was thinking.  We'd only ever talked on the phone maybe once.

But I know this.  I wasn't buying.  No thanks.  Take those wears and peddle them elsewhere.  Mamma isn't interested.  Because his messages (yes plural).  Well.  They weren't anything to write home about.  No confession narrative about what a retard he'd been.  No diatribe about the trials and tribulations that had kept him from my deserving arms (deserving of awesomeness, not deserving of his idiotic tendencies).  Nothing about how he had changed or how things would be different.  Until.  Wait for it.  Wait for it.  I asked him!

Oh don't act so fucking shocked.  You know me better than that by now.  I'm Engaging Edith.  Mother fucking Questioning Quinn.  I just can't help myself.  I seek answers.  However, I'm not a naive child anymore.  Because when I get the unsatisfactory answers (as they most surely are).  I walk away.  Nonchalant Nancy.  Learned my Lesson Lisa.  Walk.  The Fuck.  Away.  And I did.  Just like that.  And his answer.  FYI.  For what was different?  Oh.  He'd grown up.  Retard, please!

And I know what you're thinking.  Wow.  Charlie #1 (aka The Lawyer) and Charlie #2 (aka Mr. Basketball) both returning for a second shot.  Another crack at the bat.  Within what.  Like a two week period?  Christmas break?  Yep...That was exactly two weeks.  December 21, 2010 - January 4, 2011.  That's crazy.  Only the thing is.  Not even close to crazy enough.  Because of course.  After all.  You know for sure (foreshadowing).  That there is at least (foreshadowing) one more Charlie, Charlie #3.

But alas my loves.  It is late.  And this story does indeed drag on.  Like any good never-ending story should.  And yet this delicate flower needs her beauty sleep.  So this story will have to yet again be put on hold.  To be resumed soon.  And I will have to bid you adieu.  Until I can return.  And begin again, with the saga of Charlie #3.

To Be Continued...

Come Back Charlies (Part II)

Continued from Come Back Charlies (Part I)

So there I was on my last days of Christmas vacay.  Things with TheNickName were over.  He had said so pretty clearly.  "something is missing" and all that jazz.  And I can't lie.  I was feeling a bit slumpy.  Ready to take a break from dating.  But not wanting to look like be a hysterical chick.  I didn't take my POF profile down right away.  The messages kept coming in.  But there was no one I'd even consider.  And then there it was.  A message from a familiar face.  Well.  Familiar picture.  Because.  After all.  I'd never seen his real life face.  He's an Oxy(Moron) [It was] The Indecisive Lawyer.  Was he fucking serious?

Remember me? he says. And then something about how good I looked and how are things.  And that he really wants to meet me still.

I did nothing.  Okay well not nothing.  I tweeted about it.  I called TheHel and told her the hilarity.  Which was hilarious in it's own right because I said GUESS WHO just messaged me.  And she said TheNickName?  No, I said.  Intelligence Officer?  Gotta love her.  A real friend knows who really has an affect on you.  Of course there's no lingering feelings for Garbage Man, or Twitter Guy, or Trucker Joe or ThePhD.  But the boy who made me laugh, laid it down oh so good and then managed to leave things on a good note.  Yeah.  He might have left me with a bit of a crush.  (Don't worry I know it's just lusty).  But I digress.  Back on point here.  So I told her who messaged me.  We had a chuckle.  And though I was just telling her because of the ridiculousness of it all.  She jumped right into Are you going to?  

Uh...wait...what?....not a fucking chance! I say.  But here's the thing.  He was the PERFECT booty call situation.  Home during Summer and Christmas breaks (aka when I'm not busy with school).  He was hot.  And if I believed him.  He was smart enough to be in Law school.  Top fucking Notch.  But.  And this is a big but.  I'm not fucking retarded.  And to be clear.  I was not expecting this dude to give some huge heartfelt apology about why exactly he'd been such a pans before and acted like such a douche.  And yes.  Sadly.  With my soft heart.  An apology (heartfelt and authentic) might have made a difference.  But I knew it wouldn't come.  And how could one really even expect it.  We don't even know each other!  Just Sayin'.  So  in the end.  I just did nothing.

But then.  Another message came.

Let's chat again. You're looking damn sexy. MSN?

Retard, please!  And so again.  I did nothing except hit delete.  But I guess you can blame POF for a system that now shows the other person is online (and yet has recently changed so that unless you pay you can't see if they deleted your message...which would have been a clear indicator to him...I'm assuming).

I would like to make up for that lost opportunity still. Let's meet. We'll both be completely satisfied. I'm sure of that.

Ugh.  Gross.  Now you're just being creepy.  It was almost a weak ass apology and then it went straight into what I like to call...if you have to say it, you aren't it.  The balls on these boys (and not the awesome kind, the delusional kind).  Claiming I'd be completely satisfied somehow I fucking doubt it you moron.

And that's when I caved.  Wait!  Don't start freaking out.  I don't mean caved in that I was even the slightest bit tempted.  But caved in the sense that one of my fatal flaws is engaging when I shouldn't.  Because I naively expect the possibility that I could hear a good (good as in satisfactory, not good as in forgivable) reason for certain behaviors and through that I'll learn more about retards boys.  And so I messasged back.  Doh!

What's changed?  That's it.  Short and sweet.

I suppose what's changed is that I'm realizing how much fun we would have together and I don't want to waste that opportunity. Where abouts are you living now?

Yeah.  No shit, son!  I'm fucking amazing.  But that's not really a good excuse because technically he likely thought the same thing in the summer.  And yet squandered his chance(s) then.  Nothing has changed.  Oh wait.  I have.  He's still retarded.  I'm not.  Progress.  And just to be a dick.  I don't respond any further.  I mean after all.  He doesn't deserve it.  His behavior certainly doesn't warrant it.  And honestly...nobody likes Bitter Betty but EVERYBODY loves NonChalant Nancy and can't fucking stand it when she can't be bothered to respond to you.  Just Sayin'.  His messages however, continued for a couple more days.

I promise I won't back out this time. I'd REALLY like to meet you. What do you think?

And then.... 


How's your night coming along? What are you up to? Let's chat.

And then a couple days later he deleted his account.  Who's hysterical now, bitch!  Okay that was petty.  Whatever.  Don't care.  I win!!!  Okay sure it's kind of like winning a free corn dog not the Dream House at the PNE but still.  I win!  NonChalant Nancy.  Whaaaaaaaat! (one day if you meet me you'll know what that sounds like and the hand gestures it comes with ;)

But don't think he was it.  The end of this.  No of course not.  One guy returning doesn't warrant a blog post(s) of this magnitude.  Of this awesome Titlemonium.  No way.  He was JUST the fucking beginning.  It's Come Back Charlies.  Plural.  Numerous.  Enough to form a pattern.  Enough to warrant this discussion.

To Be Continued...

Come Back Charlies (Part I)

It's an online inconsistency.  An incongruency between my online and offline personality.  Because in real life I'm no Second Chance Sandy.  I'm not Come Again Carly.  And I won't be Waiting Winnie.  Shit, son.  If anything I might be a bit too far the other way.  Too hard on the fellas I mean.  Because the thing of the thing is.  With me.  It's often a case of now or never.  My way or the highway.  You're either in or you're out*.  Shape up or Ship out**.  I don't take second place.  I don't get down with sloppy seconds.  I don't date exes.  I don't do tradesies and I don't buy day old buns.  I don't wait forever.  You'd be lucky if I wait a week.  I don't fight another chick for your heart.  I don't play second fiddle.  I don't ride in the backseat.  I.  Don't.  Take.  Second.  Place.  Some might think this is harsh and judgmental.  But a reminder I am harsh and judgmental.  And honestly.  I don't want the guy who didn't see me and just swooooon in a manly way of course.

But there I am.  Online boy after online boy.  Giving second chances.  Because maybe they're just nervous about online dating.  Or.  maybe he's just busy with work.  Or. everybody is a flake now and again.  And maybe it's because I take absolutely NO shit in real life.  That online.  I've gotten caught up in thinking that I should relax a bit.  Be a bit breezier.  More easygoing.  That's what boys want isn't it?  And along the way that became manifested as.  Pushover.  But then a funny thing happened.

I realized that was fucking bullshit.  What the fuck was I thinking?  Well I partly know what I was thinking.  I wanted to ensure I'd have enough dates to have enough blog material.  I wanted a summer of boys.  But shit son.  Summer is long over now and I'll write erotica if I have to.  Because putting up with ridiculousness has limits.  And I've reached mine.  Not in a bitter way.  But in a "doh!" "oopsies" kind of way.  And so I decided.  Since I already felt worth getting.  It was time to make the act or effort of the getting of me to match the value I felt that specific me entails.  AKA I, SSDated, would henceforth be Hard To Get.

But then it happened.  That thing.  That situation.  That circumstance.  That moment where you finally stopped giving a shit about something and it being THAT EXACT MOMENT that it comes right back around to you. A sort of fucked up version of The Cat Came Back.  Like that old adage

 "If you love like someone set them free don't be mad when

they let you down and if they come back to you try for a 

2nd (or 3rd or 4th) chance, you'll know it was meant to be

they are absolutely fucking retarded"

And so I'm telling you.  The moment it happened.  The moment I got my head together.  Wrapped my head legs around being Hard To Get.  They all fuckin' heard my heart legs clamp shut.  They came a runnin'.  Well.  Metaphorically.  I mean.  Literally they came a messagin'.  Chomping at the bit.  Biting for another chance.  A "Something" that WAS.  Several "Somethings" that could have been but never WERE.


To Be Continued....



*Thanks to @LoveYourCake for suggesting this phrase of perfection
**Thanks to @Wanderlust1ng for suggesting this phrase of perfection.

Dear Boys, Nobody Likes To Be A SideShow

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