Man, I just went on a great not-date.
The girl was beautiful, charming, kept on touching my hair and my face.
We had lunch and saw a movie and had some hot cocoa in-between.
We wandered around the neighborhood, talking and walking.
She even dabbed my cheek when she saw I had some chocolate on it.
I kissed her goodbye.
And that was it.
For the past 4 years of my life, I would like to think while my dating career has been modest to say the least, that I am the grand pimp daddy, if you will of not-dating.
Now when I say not-dating, I don’t mean “not dating” the sexless void I lived in my middle and high school career, but rather that night you go out, have a great time and nothing happens and you do it again and again.
Now as I said, I have spent the last 4 years of my life working at this. I have had several very attractive, interesting, intellectual, usually quite nice women spend long periods of time not-dating me.
Why would I do this? Why would they do this? I don’t know all the answers. I’m me and they’re them. But here’s what I would guess.
On my part, I’m a lonely nerd who over time has built up enough confidence in himself that he thinks that a girl, some girl or even perhaps girls generally (!) might be interested in him. However, it may be I haven’t reached the level yet where I fully believe that they might want to do strange things to me involving my body.
I look at my body and think, geez, what the fuck is wrong with you. Why the fuck would they want to do anything to you?
However, it’s easier for me to believe that a girl would want to spend time with me. To laugh at my bitter, self-deprecating jokes. To eat good food at the weird places I know. To see the cool movies I see. Believing that only takes a leap of faith to believe that someone might like the same things as me and so, here I am, liking the same things too.
For girls, I can’t say. But what I imagine is that I’m mostly right. They like having a funny, knowledgeable friend who will hang out with them in the day time. Shit, they don’t even have to sleep with him! This guy’ll just hang around me because I’m awesome.
I must make them feel like a fucking million bucks.
And so it goes on. As it does inevitably. Because I like having beautiful, interesting girls around me. And they like having a dickless admirer.
In the past it’s built up to a multiple-rejection, or a phone call telling me they’ve slept with my friend or just a bitter email or two followed by estrangement.
And it ends. And it happens all over again.
I’m not dating. I’m not-dating.
And I can write about it and I can talk about.
But I sure as hell don’t seem to change it.