Of Dating Life

Girls Kiss

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I’ve found that I’m an absolutely terrible dater. And hardly, if anyone, ever tries to argue this fact. If somehow I magically end up going on a date I usually end up ruining everything by date three – that is, if I reach date three. Typically I’ll just back out and suddenly stop responding to any form of communication. And by the third time I don’t respond, the girl usually stops trying to contact me. It’s over. The truth is I’m not scared of commitment, if I’m with someone I stick around, no matter how stupid or incompatible we may become. But starting something is scary, largely because of the whole being vulnerable business that I don’t particularly care for. So I figure, if we’ve only been on a handful of dates, do we really need the break up conversation?

Meeting people is weird. I don’t pay much attention to my surroundings, so I don’t generally notice if someone is actually interested in me. Unless you’re creepy. If you’re creepy I will notice, and I will do my very best to not be anywhere near you. I’ve been told that I don’t give off a gay-vibe. Straight and gay people alike have told me this, and I can’t really do much to change that. I’ve always kept my emotions private – so I guess that makes me hard to read. I like to think that once people get to know me they see the reality of my situation. However, that doesn’t help me on the meeting people, phase of life.

If I wanted to meet men that’d be easy. Men hit on me all the time, and they are not shy about it. But women are more reserved, and I’m always surrounded by straight chicks. So since I don’t look to any extent dyky, girls assume I’m also straight until I say otherwise. It’s dreadfully annoying. I simply don’t know how to meet people.

So I tried online, and this is what I found:

  • With online conversations people edit everything, so nothing sounds genuine. 
  • You’ll talk to someone for a couple of days or weeks and then never meet.
  • Or you’ll meet up and it will be super awkward or boring.
  • 90% of those that reach out to me I’m not attracted to.

To put it shortly, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. The only thing I can figure is I need to change up my norm. Venture to places I don’t often go, introduce myself to strangers, make the first move. But I like my ways, I like my friends, and I don’t like making the first move. Ah, what a standstill I lead.

Of Mosquitoes, Spiders, and The Lord’s Bootcamp

When I was a teenager I went to The Lord’s Bootcamp (TLB), twice. Not because I was an awful kid, on the contrary, I was a perfect pastor’s kid. Rather, because I was going on a mission trip and TLB is where they train you. Anyways, what I remember most about TLB is not the sermons, getting closer to God, crying, studying my Bible, or really any of the classes we took (other than puppeteering and an intense sermon about how those who masturbate are going to Hell).

I remember the heat, an intensive humidity that made my clothes cling to my skin the second I stepped off the bus. Being forced to walk in a single file line everywhere we went. Rules forbidding pairing off, whether that being romantic or best friends. And mosquitoes. Holy Hell were there mosquitoes! They were everywhere. At the start of camp it was not uncommon to spray bug spray on yourself practically every hour. By the end of the two weeks the humid air was so thick with the spray that it was no longer necessary to apply more than when waking up in the morning at 5AM.

I got into the habit of checking my tent thoroughly for mosquitoes every night so that my exposed limbs wouldn’t get eaten up over the night. Whoever my tent-mate was at the time and I would slowly move our flashlights over every inch of the fabric walls and kill the unsuspecting blood suckers.

The third day of my second round at TLB we were switching tent-mates and I saw a Florida Tarantula fall into my soon to be abode. Naturally I freaked out, those things are huge! Several inches in size, gray and fuzzy – creepy little dudes. I called for my leader to come get it out of my tent. He reached in, said he got it, and told me, “next time you’re getting it yourself.” I would later learn that he was a pathological liar and a crazy person, but at the moment he was the head leader who was supposedly a man after God’s own heart, like King David, obviously we trusted him.

That night my tent-mate and I were checking for mosquitoes, there weren’t any (which was unheard of) but when my flashlight landed on my pillow there it was. The spider! Sitting right in the middle of where my head was about to go. Panic stuck me, at first I was in shock unable to move. Part of me wanted to run, another wanted to cry, and another wished I was bold enough to kill the freaky guy on the spot. But instead I sat there panting, my tent-mate equally silent beside me.

He began to move. Slowly, so fucking slowly, as if he was a lion on the hunt. I swear he could tell that I was terrified. His moving launched me into reality, I started screaming, crying, pleading for someone to come help me as the fuzzy jackass slowly crawled in my direction – my tent-mate silent on the other side of the tent quietly crying.

Eventually a different male leader came up to the tent, “are you decent?” he asked.

“Huh? There’s a huge spider in here and its crawling towards me.” I responded.

“But are you decent?”

“Yes!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m fully clothed.” I was getting frustrated with the man. Who cares, I thought, just come save me from the tarantula.

He unzipped the tent and reached over me with a towel in his hand, grabbed my hairy enemy. Shortly after he came back to inform me that I needed to take care of it myself next time.

After he left I heard a girl crying. Then I heard him comforting her. It was absolute bullshit (though I didn’t swear at the time, I just thought it was unfair) she was upset because she heard that someone had a giant spider in their tent. I was upset because I had said spider in my tent. But I got no sympathy, in fact, I was scolded for not being more brave. Now, I can’t be certain of the particular breed of the tarantula on my pillow, but I do remember what it looked like so here’s a picture. Would you be brave? Especially if you were only seventeen?

Florida Tarantula

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Just looking at this picture makes me uneasy.

Of the Creeper at the Doorway

Door

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My roomie and I were talking about life, love, success, food, old friends, sweat pants, basically anything and everything, when we heard a pounding at our door.

First – it was about midnight.

Second – we rarely get visitors without pre-planning.

We live in one of those apartment complex’s where there’s no lobby or indoor hallway. We’re set up like a motel surrounded by trees. Basically, our building really wanted to become an edgy cabin but failed in its execution. Our apartment is on the top-level in the corner where our door and the neighbors form a perfect 90 degree angle. Now, since they get more visitors than us, we normally assume that the banging is on their door. Tonight the knocking was for us …

I went up to the door first and peered through the peep-hole. I saw a stout man about my height, wearing a seashell choker necklace (very 90s of him), and knocking on the door in a fist-pumping-Jersey-Shore-fashion. He then began to repeat the phrase, “Open up” several times. Quickly, I motioned for my roomie. She hesitantly made her way towards the peep-hole.

Scream

This is the closest image I could find (Click image to view source)

You see, my roomie has an unusual fear of leaning up against doors, windows, and things of a similar nature in high pressure situations. When she was a kid she watched Scream (the original). The bathroom scene, where the girl leans up against the stall to try to hear what’s going on only to end up with a knife in her head, has left a residual worry in my roomie’s heart that she too could end up with a knife in the head. Anyways, she didn’t recognize him either.

Then he left.

About 5 minutes later he came back doing the exact same thing, yelling at us to open up, banging on the door like an angry man whom we had somehow wronged.

Then he left.

We were freaking out, ALL my roomie wanted to do was get her laundry, but we were both not comfortable with the her going outside alone or us leaving the apartment unattended. Eventually we called the campus police, who transferred us to the city police, who took our report and said that a police officer was going to stop by. I threw my hands up to my face slightly chuckling at the whole ordeal, I really didn’t want to deal with police. My roomie kept on saying how bad she’d feel if he just had the wrong apartment or something, but maybe now she could have an escort to the laundry room.

Simba Pouncing Lesson

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I’ve never been hesitant when looking through my window or peep-hole until tonight. I moved with caution, I felt like Simba during the scene in The Lion King where Mufasa teaches him how to pounce, quiet, steady, steady.

He never came back. Maybe he gave up or maybe he found his friends.

Then the police never showed up.

Oh, we got a phone call, saying that an officer circled and didn’t see anybody lurking. But, they NEVER asked what he looked like. I find that highly peculiar, I would think they would want to know who they were looking for so that some poor Joe smoking a cigarette or hanging out on the lawn wouldn’t become a suspect of creeping around our apartment. All they knew was that a man scared us.

I don’t think I’m in danger, I found the whole thing creepy, and I’m disappointed in the police officers who didn’t even bother to see if we were safe or okay.