Not Into Me

It was a sad, sad, sad day in September of this year.

I met a guy at a gaybar, the same one where my only long-term relationship also had begun. We made eyes at each other from across the room, you know the drill. He was good-looking and shy. He was with some friends. He was exactly my type. Dark skin, kind of hairy...seemingly nerdy. I had seen him on all the online dating sites, too and kind of admired him from afar. He had a weird name that I didn't hear correctly. I was popular that night. Boys were sitting on my lap and shit. The club could not handle me right now, as they say.

As he walked by to go the bathroom I tapped him on the shoulder. He looked horrified but agreed to talk to me. We exchanged pleasantries, well, I did at least. He was shy--which I loved. I'm sick of dating talkers. We discovered we both have similar jobs and were about the same age. I instantly kind of fell in love, in that gay infatuation way.

The texting commenced.

We went on a date. I got us a fancy reservation at a bitchy place downtown. We had fun. For the first time in many years I WAS NERVOUS. I never get nervous. We had drinks afterward. We had sex, too. I know I should have waited but he was so hot. I couldn't hold out. I'd waited since we met a week before! That's kind of old fashioned right?

I must have gotten un-nervous, cause I left a mark on his neck. And the next day I woke up and felt sore throaty. I went to the doctor and had strep. I told my new boyfriend this. I gave it to him, and a hicky. Now I'm like, White Trash City. Kiss of the Spiderwoman.

Still, I waited for his text, his call, asking me out again...and it tapered off.

And then it hit me, for the first time in...possibly my life--or at least since I'd been fat and wanted straight guys: a guy I was into was not into me back. It may have been the strep or the teethmarks or the fact that I mispronounced his very sexy name. Maybe it was my body or my voice or the conversation, but whatever it was--HE. WAS. NOT. INTO. ME.

RED ALERT.

I panicked. I told a friend how crazy this feeling was, to be not 300 pounds and have a guy who enjoys buttsex not want to continue to do it with me. She said that maybe he was busy with work or was already dating someone. I breathed and allowed this to be the case, until my other friend pointed out that those are excuses WHEN SOMEONE IS NOT INTO YOU.

I'll diet. I'll stop talking about anything heavy like religion or politics. I'll not use my teeth on throats. I'll cancel a date if I feel a headache. I'll not dominate the conversation. I'll try to top for once. I'll play metal. No more Reba. I'll get a better car. I'll stop wearing purple. I'll Twitter more, Facebook less. These were my thoughts for a couple of weeks. It handicapped me. I stalked. I squinted. I was Amy Fisher.

My charm and my eyes had always been enough to get anything Iever wanted in the penis department, and I wanted the guy with the weird name and the sensible SUV.

But then I talked about it in therapy (I should quit admitting I go to therapy on the first date) and the boss said the words I needed to hear:

"You're worried because someone wasn't into you, but do you know what's really happening?"

"Yes, I'm losing my mind."

"No," he smiled. "For the first time in more than a year, you're into someone else. You're finally healing from a broken heart."

And he was right. This is the first day my heart was able to feel again, I had realized sitting there. Sitting across the table from someone who held my attention and made me laugh, who's opinions I found interesting and who was also extremely good looking was finally recognizable. I wasn't making excuses for no second date. I was not Day Dreaming about Wrestlemania 27(I'll find a more masculine sport to watch). I was ready to trust and to gamble on dating and relationships. And the truth is, I don't want the first guy I feel something for to be my next life-long partner. He'd run screaming after the third date I'm sure, because I'm still learning how to juggle it all. But it's good to know I was actually trying again to find someone special to spend an occasional Friday night with.

And then that sad day in September wasn't so sad. Pitiful maybe, but not sad.