Amusings

I was frustrated.  My latest two year relationship had just imploded… In slow motion.  I really liked her too.  We had fun.  She was fun.  And it still just all fell apart… Similar to milk left in the back of the refrigerator… It slowly became sour… And then it was best just to throw it out.

I would have shrugged it off… If this was the first time… But it wasn’t.  It seemed like all of my relationships had a two year expiration date.  And when that date arrived, the milk was either gone from the refrigerator or it had to be thrown out.

This frustration led me to seek help of a professional variety.  It was 2014… And it was the first time I started seeing a therapist.  The experience was refreshing and liberating… For a person who met everyone where they were… In the shallow end of the pool… Where polite conversation takes place… And only rarely ventured into the deep end.

One day, after expressing my dating frustrations, my therapist had a suggestion.  She thought a ‘summer of love’ was in order.  A summer of love?  What does that entail?  

She suggested that I go out on as many dates as possible… With no expectations.  No thoughts of ‘Is this person right for me?’  Don’t worry about it.  You’re only going out on one date with the person.

Okay… Novel concept.  I’ll try it.

And so I did… With all of the effort that I put into projects that are important to me.  Dating went from a whimsical experience of trying to be charming and funny… With the goal of securing a second date… To a strategically planned campaign of meeting as many attractive and available women as possible in my geographic area.

And I did this in spades.

It became my second job… My hustle gig… My charm was on overdrive as I convinced countless women to meet me after work or on the weekends.

This was, not at all, about finding ‘the one.’  Nope… I wasn’t looking for that.  If I found ‘the one’ it would totally mess up my plans for the rest of the summer.

I didn’t keep a journal or anything of the sort… Although, I should have… I should have kept lab notes on this new social experiment I was conducting.  Today, I do wish that I could see my Microsoft calendar from that time… It would be like opening an old photo album.

God bless her, but my assistant at work was not very good at her job.  But… She had sons my age, and maybe felt a little motherly instinct… Because… She was on top of my date schedule like her bonus depended on it.

And so it began.

I would usually have two to three dates after work each week… And usually two more on the weekends.  I tried two back-to-back dates… But that was really draining.

I had quite a few memorable dates… But I don’t remember their names… Their given names were quickly replaced by nicknames given to them after discussing the date with a friend.  They ended up with nicknames like Blah Blah Blah, Soap Girl, Chocolate Milk Girl… As well as some that should remain forgotten.

Initially, I took somewhat of a laissez-faire approach… Sure, dinner and drinks sounds great!  After a couple weeks of dinner and drinks… I quickly realized that the life of a playboy can get expensive… I would have to introduce measures of austerity… No dinner… Two drinks… Three drinks if the conversation was really good.

To the best of my recollection, I had 50 first dates in the space of two and a half months. 

 Fifty!

By the time I met my-ex-wife… Yes, my now ex-wife… I was sick of dating.  It had become a drag.  When the waitress came up and asked us if we wanted to see menus, I replied, “We don’t need menus.”  Such a charmer.

The gal in front of me was attractive, educated, career-oriented… And seemed to have the craziness gene under control.

And yes… Eventually I married someone I met from an online date… I hate to spoil the ending, but it didn’t work out… And it’s nobody’s fault but mine.  At the time… I got excited about the circus… It looked like fun… So, I hopped aboard… For a Fun House Voyage like no other.

And that should be the end of the story… But it’s not.

Many twists and turns… And eleven years later… I once again entered the realm of the undead… Online dating.

This time I had no mandate… No quota of dates to meet… I’m older and more skeptical now… And… It seems… So are the gals.

And so, I began sending messages to prospective women.  This time, not nearly as many responded… Which could partly be due to me swiping left at an exceptional rate… The consequence of 11 years of learning.  Most didn’t earn more than a glance… Before my thumb instinctively twitched left.

When you go through this process for a while, you end up not expecting much in return for your effort.  I’ve had the experience of sending a well-crafted introductory message… Only to find out that the prospect hadn’t checked her account in three months.  It’s a small hint that what you’re doing is actually a futile process… And yet, there still exists a small glimmer of hope that something significant may still be had… A long shot.

And… This is how I met Breanna (Bre, for short)… For the second time.  

Something about her profile caught my attention… I can’t say what it was… But something.  I sent her a message saying something to the effect of 

‘Hey!  From your profile, it seems like you might be kind of shy. 
Don’t worry… I’ll make it weird for both of us’  

Little did I know… I was correct.  Because… As it turns out… I had gone out on a date with Bre in 2014.  She brought this to my attention in her first reply… And I filled her in on exactly what I’ve related here.  Wow, what a coincidence… And so we began chatting.

Honestly, part of this was just my own curiosity… What prospective women had I left behind in my ‘summer of love’?

During our conversation, she informed me that she didn’t understand why we hadn’t gone out on a second date… But after explaining my 2014 dating scheme, she seemed to understand… And seemed open to further conversation.

In all honesty, I only remember a tiny bit about our original 2014 date… Two things.  One was that I went over my austerity limit of drinks with her… We had three each… Bre mentioning where we met also helped jog the second memory.  We met at a place that is very low lit… And I happened to catch her profile in a light as we walked out of the restaurant… Not that this memory has any significance… Other than that, it stuck in my memory.

When I met Bre in 2014, she was an attorney.  We met after work and both of us were still dressed in our best workday clothes… And I’m guessing that our professional attire led to a tendency to treat the experience as a work meeting… With less of a relaxed ambiance.

In talking with Bre this time, she said that she had moved from the legal profession to accounting.  Okay… I’ve had some pretty sudden turns in my career for a variety of reasons… So, not much explanation needed.  We exchanged phone numbers and began chatting that way… And that’s when more of the story came out.

I’m not much of a chatter person per se… And I wasn’t really treating this very seriously… There was still a large personal curiosity component to this whole thing… Combined with a general loss of faith in online dating… But, it was cheap entertainment… And so I indulged.

And then one evening… My phone rang… It was Bre.  I let it go to voicemail… It was late.  And then while staring at my phone, I called her back.

Within about five seconds, I could tell that Bre was drunk.  And it seemed… Bre was a drunk talker.  And so… I let her talk… While I just listened.

Bre had moved from being a successful litigating attorney into accounting… Because of two DUIs… And failing to participate in a state program for judges and attorneys who may be struggling personally with mental health issues.

“And then I burned the house down… And burned my leg up.” 

Sorry… I missed that last part.

And then she sent me a picture.  It was a picture of her crossed legs… And one leg bore scars from skin grafts… From her mid-thigh all the way down to her foot.

What was that ‘burning down a house’ part again?

It turns out… That Bre had quite a legal history given her judicial background.  Two DUIs… A judicial reprimand and diversion program… Failure to complete that diversion program… The loss of her law license… Multiple citations for the condition of her home and property… A credit card that had gone to collections… And her house was being sold at a sheriff’s sale in two weeks.

What in the everloving fuck?

I’m no saint… And it’s probably a good thing I’ve never been in a confessional booth… Because God already knows that the priest would need a pot of espresso to get through my spiel.  But… I also have an innate fear of law enforcement or legal entanglements… I’ll credit this healthy fear to my mother… Who continually threatened to send me to a children’s home unless I shaped up during my formative years.

Our texting and talking only lasted one more telephone call after that.  Bre, intoxicated again, was offensive… And I let her know that I was no longer interested in continuing our conversation.

***

I honestly don’t know what to make of this experience.  I really don’t feel judgemental about Bre’s situation… But I also don’t feel much sympathy for her.  

The way I see it… You can use any drug under the sun and most of the time you’ll be fine.  The problem comes in… When that drug acts like a key to your psyche.  You insert the drug into your lock… Turn it… And Whammo!  The door opens.  I’ve seen this many times… And even in myself.

This ‘magical drug key’ is most often hinted at with heroin addicts.  From the accounts that I’ve come across, users cite things like: 

‘The first time I tried it, all of my problems seemed to drift away.’

‘It felt like someone was pouring warm gravy all over me.’

‘I was instantly wrapped in a warm blanket.’

So… I’m not judgmental… If you have problems… And a drug fills that hole in your soul… It’s fulfilling a need… And I can understand that.

But… At the same time… When you lose control of your career… Your finances… Your credit… And your house… It may be time for a serious reappraisal of the situation.

I wish Bre the best.