Wiping The Slate With My Relationships

Out with the old, in with the new.

For months, I’ve juggled two relationships.

Sean is a former college football player, makes bank, and lives in a swanky house with endless wine. What he also has is a limp dick and a horrific work travel schedule.

I tried breaking up with Sean but failed miserably. While it’s been fun, I need to end it for good. I saw him last weekend and lied that I was on my period. A quick blowjob nuked that dick in the bud and the rest of the evening was spent going out for food and drinks. I argued that I should pay since he’s covered everything for months but Sean insisted that he gets the bill. Cool, because I recently bought a house and I need all the funds I’ve got.

Breaking up with Sean is on my To-Do list. I need a better strategy since last time didn’t work.

Thomas is a handsome guy with mind-blowingly great sex skills and will marry me in a heartbeat. However, the dude is still hitched and living with his wife (well, he filed for a divorce the day after I broke up with him). He also sucks at finances and would prefer to spend his money on his Jeep than saving for a home or…well anything other than a vehicle.

The first week after my breakup with Thomas was rough. I pushed away my feelings for him while dating because he was married and didn’t have his shit together. While he wasn’t my boyfriend, I wasn’t immune to having feelings. There was crying. There was panic about my decision. But there was also the reminder of things that were deal-breakers, like the glaring incompatibilities made obvious on Valentine’s Day.

After that, getting over him was surprisingly easy. Thomas messages me constantly in hope that he still has a chance. Sometimes I reply. Most texts I ignore. The few things he left at my place are in a box I plan to mail back. If it’s this easy to get over the guy, then he wasn’t the one for me.

There are no hot single dads at my kids’ school like movies portray (I’m looking at you, Bad Moms). My friends are married. Their friends are married. I don’t think I’m going to meet my soulmate while doing crafts with my Cricut or any other non-male-centric activity like scoping out cookie cutters at Sur La Table. I’m still in Work From Home mode with my job; I don’t even leave my house some days and with a new house, I don’t have the funds either.

So…fuck it. I signed up for Hinge. Being a female on a dating site is the only time my gender has the advantage. Unfortunately, it becomes a paradox of choice. I could never be a recruiter. Weeding through piles of candidates is draining and eventually, I stop caring. I canceled my account because I refuse to deal with this app for more than a month.

I only make my profile viewable when I have the app open. Having coworkers see my pics and profile isn’t ideal. Also, I feel icky having my profile out there in the ether when I’m not in any control of who sees it. Within a few hours, I amassed enough interest to feel like Bridgerton’s diamond of the season.

I’ll spare the details of whittling guys down. Vance was on top of the pile. When I asked to switch to email instead of giving my phone number because of a previous stalker situation, he willingly obliged. He also jokingly gave me his full name, Instagram account, and a few other details for me to feel comfortable. I’m a lone chick on a dating site; men are concerned about catfishing and women are concerned about murder.

Talking on the phone makes me want to gouge my eyes out. I dazzle by text and the written word (aren’t you, Dear Reader, scintillated with my tales of misery and mishaps?) but by voice, not so much.

Vance got a pass because he said he was old-fashioned and wanted to ask me out over the phone. It crossed my mind that I hadn’t been asked out by voice in…who knows? His voice is sexy as fuck. He’s witty, crazy smart, and doesn’t spend all his money on a Jeep. Vance wants to take me out somewhere nice and says he’ll pick me up, despite my home is almost out in the middle of nowhere.

I’ve never let a guy pick me up on the first date. Either it’s old-fashioned courting or a tactic for murder. Meh, could go either way. I figure I’m somewhat safe because he’s given me loads of identifying information, including pictures of his daughter. It’s a rare occasion that I see photos of a guy’s children and my immediate reaction isn’t “ugh, she looks annoying as hell.”

Pro tip: don’t watch the Hulu movie Fresh before going on a date with someone new. You’re welcome.

Is my bar too low? Perhaps. I’m blown away when Vance asks about my food preferences. It’s rare for a guy to ask. We chat about drinking on dates and I’m relieved that he’s someone who drinks alcohol. “I want to have margaritas in Mexico and have drunk sex with my girlfriend,” he replies when I ask if he’s sober. I’m ready to burn all my panties for the guy.

Our texts leading up to tomorrow night are fun and flirty. I can’t remember being nervous and excited about a date. Vance tells me I’m “out text-witty-ing” him and he’s not used to that. While I lack grace and charm, I’m known for my sarcasm and wit. My Bridgerton diamond is more like a Walmart cubic zirconia.

Twelve hours after my date with Vance, I have a breakfast date with Peter.

Six years older, Peter is a guy ready to settle down. I had no intention of meeting him when he gave me flack for “not being real”, which is an accusation I receive often. It seems Only Fans women pretend they want a date when in reality, they want digital roses and money. His first line on our phone call was, “I’m such a dick for not believing you.”

I’m a sucker for men who admit they’re wrong.

Peter is enamored with me. He hasn’t met me and is positive that I’m the one for him. He says I’m edgy and authentic. This is a guy who had many gold diggers hit him up and values women who aren’t pretentious. I ate Kit Kats and dry bread for lunch today. If there is anything that I am not, it’s pretentious.

I’m on the fence with Peter, which is why he only gets a breakfast slot (as in, not a VIP evening for someone like me who has limited free time). My hesitation with his immediate obsession is the similarity with Thomas’ interest off the bat. It’s overwhelming for someone like me with an Avoidant Attachment type. But he’s sweet, has his shit together, and would treat me like a queen. His body at 51 is in better shape than even men in their twenties so at least he appeals to my superficial side.

I’m relieved that I don’t regret my breakup with Thomas. While I dread breaking up with Sean (I clearly am not skilled in the ways of ending a relationship), I know it’s not going anywhere.

My expectations for both dates this week are the same as always: just buy me dinner and call me pretty. That’s it. I’ve learned that going on a date with no expectations makes the evening go smoothly and I have more fun. When you’re my age with no interest in remarrying, simply an evening of drinks and laughter is a success.