Just so you don’t have to scroll back six months, I’m going to give you the short story of the trucker that I mentioned yesterday.
We met on Tinder or Plenty of Fish. Not sure. We hit it off immediately. He asked for my number. I gave it to him. He called. We talked for hours. He came through Knoxville. We met. I jumped in his truck with him for a two-day adventure. He dropped me back off after we took a trip to Ohio. Then a week or so later I went to Memphis to spend the weekend with him. He wanted a baby and a wife. I told him I already raised my kids and didn’t want to do it again. I wanted my freedom in two years. He heard I don’t want to be tied down with a relationship or something. Either way, he broke up with me. I use that term loosely because we weren’t dating, but he was the one who called it quits. “We want different things. This isn’t going to work out.” That was New Year’s Eve. I literally drove home on New Year’s Eve and spent it alone. He tried calling a few times after that. I didn’t answer, because what was the point? I did answer one other time after that I think, but it was for no good reason. I haven’t talked to him since early January. Very early.
That about sums it up, if you want to read the whole roller coaster ride of it, I think it starts here.
I’ll be the first to admit that I can love fast. It doesn’t take much. A little laughter. A little hand holding. Some eye gazing. And maybe some singing together and I’m hooked. If the sex is any good, add a few more points for that. So needless to say, I liked this guy. Plus, the older I get, I think it just gets easier to picture myself settling down with someone because maybe I don’t want to be a spinster for the rest of my life. Anyway, that’s not the point at this particular moment.
The point is, he called me the day before yesterday. The trucker. I answered. We talked like we hadn’t been estranged for 6 months. He said he had come through Knoxville three or four times and was going to call but didn’t want to get cussed out.
Which I guess should lead to my first point. I don’t cuss people out. If you hurt me, I walk away. If you tell me you don’t want to be with me, I walk away. If you ghost me, I walk away (unless you are flea market guy and then I go a little batshit crazy, but we will get to that tomorrow or maybe in a few paragraphs). But I don’t cuss people out. Especially not six months later when the likelihood of me even remembering why I may have been mad in the first place is pretty much nil.
So we talk. He says he’s going to be in town tomorrow (which was yesterday) and asks if he can take me to lunch. Of course, I say yes. Tomorrow rolls around and lunch turns into dinner. Late dinner because he got held up in North Carolina. So we go to a steakhouse and sit at the bar. He wanted to see the televisions. No big deal. I drink some margaritas and we share an appetizer. And literally, have the best time. I haven’t laughed like I did last night in a long time. And honestly, the night would have been perfect if we had just left it right there. But we didn’t. And I am not placing any blame on him, because I was there too.
He invited me back to his hotel room. Of course, I went. Even though I said we weren’t going to be having sex, I knew what I was getting myself into when I walked through the door. But instead of just going with the flow and enjoying it, I was counting down the minutes until it ended so I could go home. I mean, dinner was great. He was nice and everything, but all I could think about was that nothing had changed. I didn’t change my mind about not ever wanting kids. I don’t know if he had changed his mind about wanting a baby and a wife. We actually didn’t even get to the point of talking about it because every time I mentioned the past, he changed the subject. And then when I brought it up after round one of sex, he said, “we should have talked about this at dinner.” And I’m thinking, we were sitting at a bar. Next to each other. Not in a private booth where we could talk. You were watching sports on tv. We were laughing and making jokes and entertaining the bartenders. And when I did mention anything about it, the subject was changed.
But of course, he did that man thing that men do and wanted to use the crazy excuse… “why are you so up and down? Don’t put your other relationship problems on me.”
Seriously? Other relationship problems? I don’t have “other relationship problems.” I think it was because I said, “I’m so tired of everything just being about sex.” I also know that everything being about sex is totally my fault for being a go with the flow kind of person. You want to just have sex and never talk again? Fine. I’m cool with it. But don’t give me mediocre sex and expect me to answer the phone everytime you call. You get one shot. Blow my mind or fuck off. If it’s just about the sex, that’s the rule. If you want to invest your time and energy in me, then the sex doesn’t have to be mind-blowing. Mediocre is fine if we can laugh and have a good time.
Anyway, long story short, after I got irritated with him for making it seem like I was the problem, he said, “you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.” So I got up, put my clothes on and left. He did try to get me to stay. “C’mon, baby, don’t go.” That was the extent of it. He never got out of bed. And he didn’t try to call or text. Needless to say, he went on the block list today. He should have been on it in December.
And I can’t say that his behavior was 100% responsible for my immediate bad mood. I will blame some of that on Flea Market Guy. But I will tell you about that tomorrow.
(to be continued…)
RouletteWeekend 