Never Felt So Alive

I'm not even sure I want to write about this date.  That's how strange I feel about it. 

Before I left for Ohio, I had been talking to Drew, who I had met through the Internet (where else?).

Everytime, without fail, when I talk to a guy who is an experienced online dater, I ask, "What did you think of the girls you met through the Internet before?"
The response is usually something generic about her personality, and then, "But she didn't look like her picture ..."
"In what way?"
"Well, she had gained about 30 pounds since her picture was taken ..." 

Guys are never fatter in person.  They may deceive by not showing teeth in their pictures or by wearing a hat in their pictures or by adding a few inches to their height, but it's never weight. 

Until now.

Drew, the good looking, in shape guy in the pictures was actually a plumper version in person.  His explanation:  "Well, I was in really good shape ... but then I turned 21 ... and beer tastes good."

We went to a bar with two other couples.  The other couples hung out on the dance floor but we stayed in the booth.  The dance floor wasn't working for me.  To dance with him, I felt like I had to make my stomach concave to accomodate for his convex stomach. 

Then, I don't know what got into me (I was designated driver so it wasn't booze), but I made out with him when we got back to my place.  And after he kissed me, he had this look on his face like he had just delivered the best kiss ever (which reminds me of a story I must tell later).  I, however, was unimpressed.  And yet, I still made out with him.

He took his shirt off at some point.  Why--I do not know.  My clothes were still on and remained on.  His large gut was now revealed.  And yet, I still made out with him (closing my eyes tightly and trying to pretend that I didn't see what I just saw). 

Then, he started talking.  He liked to hear himself talk.  In the car, he would say something in an unsuccessful attempt at being funny.  When no one laughed, he interpreted as us being offended at what he had said and he would then say, "You can't take me too seriously.  I'm just a goofy guy." 

But anyway, he started talking to the point where I finally asked, "Can you please stop talking?"  And yes, I still made out with him.

At the end of the date, he said, invoking the MTV show Next, "Well, Michelle, we've been on this date for 11 1/2 hours.  You can either take the seven hundred dollars or you can have a second date with me."

"I'll take the money," I responded. 

I debated with myself for days before finally deciding to go with Kristin to Savannah for St. Patrick's Day. If I've learned anything from my economics class, it's the term "opportunity cost"--what the decision to go to Savannah would cost me. The opportunity costs of missing my economics class: the knowledge I would have obtained, of course, maybe some interaction with that cute guy who sits a couple seats down ... and 30 points. Would a trip to Savannah be worth it?

Yes.

Kristin and the other girls left Friday morning. I, on the other hand, had to go to work to finish some business before I could leave. I made my escape at 3pm, arriving at 10pm. A seven hour drive for what should have been a four hour drive. I got into town, exhausted, jumped in the backseat to change, and called Kristin.
"I'm too drunk to give you directions ... but I'm at a club called 309 West. Ask someone where it is and come find me!"

It took me half an hour to find the club and another half hour to get through the line to get in. Meanwhile, Kristin, in her drunken state, is calling me every two minutes and screaming, half-frantic, "Where are you? Come find me!"

By the time I did finally find her, I found her surrounded by seven handsome Marines. Apparently these guys were the only ones who stood up for her when another guy at the club threw a beer bottle at her when she rejected his advances. After Kristin had made out with two of the Marines, I said to myself, what the hell? I'm drunk enough, and began making out with the one who had been at my hip most of the evening.

We then met up with Kristin's friend, Jack, who had been separated earlier in the evening, and the three of us headed back to the hotel room. There was no room in the beds so the three of us curled up together on the floor. Jack, who I had spoken maybe four words to total, was spooning me instantly--I didn't mind too much because the room was cold.

I did have a problem though when I woke up to kissing and biting on the back of my neck. He was attractive and all, but how strange for him to be like this so soon after we had met. I leaned over and made something up, "Umm, I'm not doing this while Kristin is laying right there." And to my relief, he stopped.

The next day, Kristin and I began our contest: who could make out with the most guys that weekend? Yes, it was trashy, but appropriate for a weekend of drunkenness. Kristin was ahead 5-1 already (I would not count the 3am unwelcomed "necking").

That night, we went to the club, already feeling fine from drinking all day long ... so I made out with the first guy I danced with, knowing only that his name was Brandon. I couldn't shake the dirty feeling afterwards, so I began to think this contest wasn't for me.

Kristin wasn't having any luck either. When the clubs shut down and people began to flood the streets of Savannah, Kristin and I expressed our frustration at our lack of handosme men that evening. We were about to give up when we arrived at our hotel and there was one standing at the corner.

Kristin had not made out with anyone yet that day, so I stepped aside and let her do her thing.

Meanwhile, I assumed his previous position on the corner, and it was not long before I was approached by my own handsome man. 23, Army, sweet, smart. We talked for quite a while. He asked me to go back to his hotel room and hang out with him and his friends, but it was almost 3am and I had to be up by 5am to move my car, so I would go back to Atlanta since I had to be up anyway.

He walked me back to my hotel room where Kristin had already gone, and we kissed. Only, with this guy, it was not quite so vile.

Behind me, Kristin was cheering me on ...

So, before I went to Ohio, I knew there were a few guys who wanted to see me while I was in town. I carefully worked out a schedule so that I would get to see them but still have time to spend with the family and the girlfriends.

Things didn't go according to schedule ... but I'm definitely not complaining ...

I was planning on calling Trapper John the instant I got there, usually around 2am; however, because of nightmarish traffic getting out of Atlanta, we didn't get there until 4am (a 10-hour drive total), and I just had to collapse as soon as I saw a couch. He'd understand ...

The next night, I called Dave who I've mentioned before. We had a couple of makeout sessions previously, he has stood me up once because he was too drunk, our thing to do when we do hang out is watch Cheaters, he constantly promises he'll come to Georgia to visit (and then never does), then suggests over and over that I move back to Ohio. That's basically how our relationship works.

I went over to his place where we watched a movie. And then made out. As we were making out, he said, "Move back."
I said, "Nooo, you move to Georgia."
A month previous he had said he was moving down after school. Now, it looked like he wasn't going to finish school, so he needed a new excuse for why he couldn't move down. It was: "I couldn't survive if I couldn't watch every Ohio State game."
"I'll give you something better than Ohio State games."
"Nothing is better than Ohio State games."
I detached myself from him. He complained a little when I did, but his lame excuses took any interest I had in kissing him out of me. It's not even so much that I wanted him to move. I wasn't even sure if I was really all that attracted to him anymore ... but don't guys tell girls whatever they want to hear to continue getting what they want?

The next day, I text messaged Trapper John who wrote back that he had an accident with a knife while at work and was spending his evening in the ER, so I had a quiet Sunday night in.

Monday night, Valerie so kindly invited me out with some of her guy friends from high school. I am definitely envious of the relationship she has with those guys. They are all so close and a lot of fun.

The one who doesn't quite fit in is JJ. He's attractive ... and he knows it which makes him slightly pompous. During dinner, he and I got into it a little bit about how the girl he was making out with could possibly be doing so just because she was on the rebound. He couldn't accept this as a possibility.

I didn't mean to, but I thought I pissed him off, so I stayed out of his way until we went to the pool hall where he motioned for me to do a shot with him. I walked over there, slightly wasted already anyway. He handed me a shot and we held our glasses up.

"What should we drink to?"
"How about ... to being hot?"
"To you then," he said, knocking it back.
"And to you," I responded, slightly suprised.

As everyone prepared to leave, JJ and I decided we wanted to stay out.
"Well, what do you want to do?" he asked.
"Makeout."
When he didn't respond right away, I was on the verge of humiliation. He was looking at me in shock. "Just throwing it out there--" I started to say.
"Okay, let's go," he finally said.

As we were making out, all I heard was how amazing I was, how cute my smile was, and how good of a kisser I was. I didn't care if it was the alcohol ... a guy who I perceived to be self-centered, was telling me how cute I was.
"I've wanted to kiss you since that party you had two years ago," he said. I knew there was something going on there at that party!

I left the next morning at 4am to go to Cleveland, realizing once I drove onto the highway that I had forgotten to leave my phone number with him. We didn't make it out again before we had to go back to Atlanta.

I blew Dave off the rest of the week and Trapper John did not heal in time to hang out (now he is promising to come to Georgia for a visit).

Great trip. Followed by another great trip to Savannah the next weekend ...

Ok, a rundown of the "dates" I went on before I went to Ohio ...

THE EMT
I met this guy through the Internet.  We arranged to meet up outside his apartment complex one night and go to dinner.

Taking one car on a date is against my number one rule of dating.  I always like to have my car with me in the event that I need to escape.  This guy gave me yet another reason to adhere to my time-tested rule ... he drove like a maniac. 

I thought I was going to die.  I was grateful for every moment that we were blocked in by other vehicles and could not go flying down the road.  After my stomach had finally adjusted, I began to trust his driving and knew I would be ok as long as we did not get on the freeway where he would have real freedom ...

We had a nice time at dinner and decided to go to a movie.  Little did I know that we would have to get on the freeway to get to the theater. 

As we went flying down the freeway, I could not take the increasing speed but my breath was gone and I could not speak or scream, so I frantically grabbed at his arm until he slowed.

"Too fast?" he asked.  I cannot imagine the look of terror mixed with sickness I must have had on my face.  "Sorry, I must just be immune to it.

I made it back to my car in one piece.  He gave me a hug and a kiss on the side of the head and asked me to call him when I got home so that he would know I made it ok.  I liked him.  He was exciting and fun.  I wanted to see him again.

When I dialed his number once I arrived home, I got his voicemail, so I left him a message.  He called me back and left me a voicemail.  I wait a few days and don't hear anything from him.  The girls and I decide that he must think it's my turn to call.  I get his voicemail again so I leave a message telling him that I just wanted to see if he had plans for the weekend. 

I get a text message from him the next day.  "Hey, I'm sick.  I'll call you later."
I interpret "late r" as later that night, so when I don't get a call, I consult with Val and William to see if their interpretation is the same.
The three of us decide on a text message that says, "Hey, hope you're feeling better."
His response:  "I am thanks"

I close my phone and sit back as if I've been punched in the gut.
"You're not going to respond?" William asks, in shock.
"Uh no.  He might as well have flat out told me that he was not interested," I said.
"I disagree.  You should respond," Willi am says.
"No, she's right," Val said.

Val and I have become better interpreters of men than men are.

THE REPEAT
After going out with the fast-driving, cursing, occasional drug-using EMT, going out with Zach again was like going out with a church minister.  I was slightly bored and wondered, where is the happy-medium?  Val and William, however, continued their constant praise of him.

THE BEST FRIEND
When one of the guys from the frat invited me to a Thrashers hockey game, I was excited.  "Dirty" and I have been close friends from the start.  There have been a couple of drunk moments at parties where I sensed he wanted to kiss me, but I just leaned out of the way to prevent anything from happening and attributed it to the alcohol. 

I love him to death.  Definitely.  But the problem is that I am not physically attracted to him ... at all.  And it's super-frustrating because we are so natural together, never a forced conversation, that I want to be attracted to him, but it just doesn't happen.

As we were seated across from each other at dinner, I searched his face, his physique, his arms, everything, for something I could be attracted to ... but found nothing. 

So that disappointment was increased by a Thrashers loss ...

Next up, the events of my trip to Ohio ...