I know there are probably a lot of people who think I’m a lunatic. And they’ve likely come that that conclusion rationaly. If they know me on paper, or in reality, it doesn’t matter. Sometimes I can be a little …much. I’m indecisive. I want a man, I don’t. I believe in fairytales, I can’t stand love. I think it’s my time, I truly don’t believe it ever will be. I wonder where my husband is, I’d rather chase my career.
But it isn’t my fault. It’s them. Them and their stupid boy penises.
Take a walk with me –
I got hit on at the gym a few weeks back. (I think I mentioned something about it in my blog, so I’m sorry for what I repeat). I could see him watching me in the mirror when I was doing deadlifts, so I wasn’t surprised when he came over. He had a lot of nice things to say – he’d seen me around, complimented my smile, and my aura (whatever that means), and told me his name. I said thanks, and carried on.
I see him pretty often, and I’m a polite girl (my mama raised me too nice) so I always smile & say hi. One day, he came over to chat again – and asked me if I remembered his name. Of course, I didn’t – whoops. So I said “Uhh nope.” & giggled Giggles usually get us women out of awkward moments. He replied, “Ahh. You must not be interested!” I told a half truth and said I wasn’t interested in anybody at the moment. I mean, I’m not interested in anyone unless they shatter my expectations – which are high as fuh. He paused – then said “Are you a lesbian?”
Am I what? Seriously? A lesbian because I’m not interested in you? I shoulda turned around and walked away right then, but I didn’t ….
I said no, and that I remembered his name started with a D. “Oh, so you’re kind of interested,” he said. Man, he really isn’t used to being turned down, is he? Fuck. I giggled, again, and started to walk away – then tossed back the ol “We can hang out as friends sometime, though, I’ll have to grab your number.” MISTAKE. “Take it now,” he called out. So, I did. (I guess I don’t know how to say no either, Jess).
A week or so had passed, and I hadn’t texted him. I didn’t want to lead him on, so I just let it be what it was: me taking his number so I didn’t have to awkwardly say I’d rather not. Last Thursday – I want to say – I was working shoulders, and decided to end the day with a little challenge. I wanted to see how many pushups I could do, consecutively. He was over at the pull up bar next to the open floor where I was going to challenge myself, and so I told him what I was about to do. Of course he said he’d do it with me, and that was that. I was amped on how many I did (30!!!), so when I got home, I texted him a little thank you for the motivation. He texted me back, and things were friendly (phew!) until the next morning. He hit me with the all too familiar “Can I ask you a question?” Here we go. “Sure,” I said. I’ll paraphrase the rest for you: He said I was hard to read, and asked me if I thought he was attractive. I was flabbergasted. A). I’m not hard to read, I already told you 3 different times I’m not interested. B). If I think you’re attractive, you WILL KNOW. I am the most horrible person at keeping my emotions in check. You can read them all over my face. I wear my heart on my sleeve, and my drool on my chin. If you make me swoon, I’ll tell you. Case closed. I told him that, in not so many words, and he seemed to get the hint.
Not so fast…
Later that day, he sent me a message confessing that he had a girlfriend. He told me he was sorry that he was talking to me, and that he really didn’t want to be a douche. He told me he thought I was pretty, and had to say something. I (not so politely) told him that he already was a douche, and that it’s funny he waited to tell me he had a girlfriend until the 4th time I turned him down. I told him to kick rocks, and that he should do everyone a favor and be single – and that I felt bad for his girlfriend.
He didn’t reply after my second blunt message & I contemplated how I’d avoid him the next time I had to see him at the squat rack.
Well, time works faster than me sometimes – I ran into him on Sunday. He came over to me, and I tried to brush it all off with a quick Hey in between my squat sets, but he begged of me “Hear me out, c’mon just hear me out.” He fed me some lines about how he & his brother were impressed with the things I had to say, and that he really checked himself after the messages I sent. I don’t buy it. I told him we were cool (because I don’t need any drama at the gym with a boy I don’t even care about) and that he really just shouldn’t do that anymore. That men keep too many secrets and chase too much attention, neglecting the good woman they’ve already found and (by some grace of God) landed.
He left, thankfully, and I carried on with my life.
The moral of this story isn’t that I get hit on at the gym. It isn’t that I get badgered, or that some poor girl almost pinned me as a homewrecker. The point is this, THIS is why I don’t believe in love. This is why I don’t think it is ever going to happen for me. THIS is why I think I’m better off taking out my own trash, and adopting a baby girl all by myself. Boys like this show their face in my life more often than not. And it’s sickening. It’s heart wrenching. And it’s ruining my visions of love. The vision I’ve had since I was a teeny tiny tot. I don’t teeter on the love is real-love is not scale for the fun of it. I don’t change my mind because being psycho is cute, or because it makes for good content. People like gym douche change my mind for me.
But I shouldn’t let them.
Instead, I should listen to the love songs. and the movies. and the few lucky souls who’ve managed to get it right. I should listen to the believers; the people who promise me it’ll come “when I least expect it” *heavy eye roll* To my mother, who just this evening told me on the phone, she knows someone great is out there for me. To the boy who thinks I’m worthy of having all of someone’s love. & to the most hopelessly hopeful romantic I know: myself.
I know he’s out there. Wading through the trenches is just getting a little old.
Until next time –