You've Got to Know When to Hold 'Em, Know When to Fold 'Em
As it turns out the gamble blew up in my face. Apparently the 48-Hour Rule is an excellent way to ensure that you will never hear from a guy again. Or conversely, it can be a valuable tool in determining just how big of an asshole a guy is.
As you’ve probably gathered, there has been no word from Flyboy. Not. A. Peep. Like I said, I played the game and lost.
Well, to a point. The thing is, if he is really this big of a jerk/baby/mind fucker, it is far better I learn that now before I get even more sucked in. I didn’t do anything wrong here. However, I am so angry and disappointed at myself for being so wrong YET AGAIN. Apparently, I have zero intuition or perception. I rely on my gut instinct and it is seriously out of whack. Or it dislikes me very much and wants to see me suffer. There were no signs that a mind fucker lurked beneath. Really! (Tell them, Laura!) He pursued me, actively, for weeks. He called/texted/IMed/emailed after the first date. He damn well called/texted/IMed/emailed after the second date. In fact, right up until the minute he sent that asshole email, everything *seemed* fine, just as it had been from the start with him.
Wait – I think I’ve got it. And it’s an old song. The men-as-pursurers thing. That bullshit makes me want to scream. It seems that as long as I appear only semi-interested and aloof and mysterious, then these assholes simply cannot get enough and there are no limits to how fabulous they think I am. The minute, though, that I begin to accept dates and return said interest, that’s when they go limp. So to speak.
What a bunch of wusses.
Ya’ll, I don’t think I can’t take much more of this. It’s hurtful, embarrassing, painful, and makes me so angry at myself that I’m talking to myself in a tone and with language that I wouldn’t use to verbally annihilate an enemy. It is not worth it.
All that to say, the big baby may call tonight with some perfectly plausible explanation. But I’m not holding my breath.
As you’ve probably gathered, there has been no word from Flyboy. Not. A. Peep. Like I said, I played the game and lost.
Well, to a point. The thing is, if he is really this big of a jerk/baby/mind fucker, it is far better I learn that now before I get even more sucked in. I didn’t do anything wrong here. However, I am so angry and disappointed at myself for being so wrong YET AGAIN. Apparently, I have zero intuition or perception. I rely on my gut instinct and it is seriously out of whack. Or it dislikes me very much and wants to see me suffer. There were no signs that a mind fucker lurked beneath. Really! (Tell them, Laura!) He pursued me, actively, for weeks. He called/texted/IMed/emailed after the first date. He damn well called/texted/IMed/emailed after the second date. In fact, right up until the minute he sent that asshole email, everything *seemed* fine, just as it had been from the start with him.
Wait – I think I’ve got it. And it’s an old song. The men-as-pursurers thing. That bullshit makes me want to scream. It seems that as long as I appear only semi-interested and aloof and mysterious, then these assholes simply cannot get enough and there are no limits to how fabulous they think I am. The minute, though, that I begin to accept dates and return said interest, that’s when they go limp. So to speak.
What a bunch of wusses.
Ya’ll, I don’t think I can’t take much more of this. It’s hurtful, embarrassing, painful, and makes me so angry at myself that I’m talking to myself in a tone and with language that I wouldn’t use to verbally annihilate an enemy. It is not worth it.
All that to say, the big baby may call tonight with some perfectly plausible explanation. But I’m not holding my breath.
posted by KDA at 6:05 PM
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