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Mack’s dating Series: Quantum Entropy. Stage 1: Initiation


Ending my cycle of romance was none other than Quantum Entropy. Of the women I had been seeing she was the only who gain any traction.

There is an art to the message on internet dating sites. I won’t get into the details here, but the sad thing is that I rarely get replies from the really cool girls (by really I mean really dorky, video game interested, Battlestar Galactica loving, Neil Gaimen reading, cool.) I usually get responses from “Interior designer who loves wine and cheese” or “fundraiser who loves NPR. Message me if you have a dog!”  So when I saw the profile of Quantum Entropy, I didn’t expect a response. But I sent one anyway.

So I am always suspicious when OkCupid says I’m 90% or higher with someone. I honestly think they have monkeys randomly match people up. But you and I actually might share an affinity for the same dark/mystical subject matter.

You seem smart and driven and I can say with no hyperbole that you are the most intriguing person I’ve ever come across on this site and I want to get to know you.

Come along for the ride.

-Mack

She stuck out to me as a cool dork +. Not only was she hot and had 12 Monkeys in her profile, she wanted to study the psychology of prison inmates. How cool is that? A day later a message was waiting for me.

I don’t know, I get a few emails from guys in the 40-60% range and most of them have _4u somewhere in their names and/or a bottle of Jack Daniels in all their pictures. Nothing against a good Jack & Coke but I feel these people must walk around in a perpetual state of inebriation… 
Out of curiosity, what are the 40-60% females like? 

Kudos for typing that all out on your phone btw, and such flattery! You’re like an award-winning email writer 😛 

And thus started the back and forth. Over the next few days the messages back and forth were plentiful and easy. With a lot dating messaging, the connection isn’t there.  Sure you’re attracted to the person, but there’s a lot of misinterpretation and your senses of humors may not be in line.  Not here. Never had I felt so comfortable sending that text.

I got my nails done a few days ago. Typing has been a bit of a Sisyphean effort ever since…

Why the hell have you been typing with a boulder?

You don’t?

I prefer to fly with wax wings on sunny days. 😉

Oh look at us all being mythology geeks 😛

And…

I think I have a stomach virus or something, I feel terrible. Being at the computer is kinda making me more nauseous for some reason… :/ Blahh. I’m going to bed, but I just wanted to shoot you back to let you know, you’re adorable omg. 😛  Thanks for the well wishes, I’ll email you tomorrow if I’m still alive :/

Well it’s half way through the day and no email, so I’m just going to go ahead and assume the dreaded illness has gotten the best of you and you are no longer with us.

Your memorial service will be held on tomorrow (yea during the Superbowl, not really expecting a great turn out.) There will be bounce house, a slip and slide, if we’re lucky Red Bull will be catering the event. So you will be the only one “resting” any time soon. Also we’re hoping to get Eddie Izzard to do the eulogy, but he can’t make it, there’s a homeless guy we’ll throw a dress on.

You’d be proud. But if by chance you’re not really dead, please contact me as soon as possible so I can cancel the reservations. And remember time is of the essence (I had to lie and cancel some kid’s bar mitzva reservation to get the bounce house and sumo wrestling suits) so message me back quickly.

I mean…how are you feeling today?

The connection was there. The stage was set for the first date

–Big Mack Attack

 
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Posted by on June 8, 2012 in By Mack, Dating

 

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The Post-It Date — By Mack

Continued from…The New York Post Date!

With one glance I knew…I wasn’t into her. And that this was going to be a very awkward date. Now you can chide me all you want about “beauty being on the inside” or that you fall in love with the person, but if that attraction isn’t there, it’s not there. Men fall in love with their eyes, people. It’s a fact of life.

We went off, shared a pitcher of beer, and bowled a couple of games. We both sucked by the way. Simply put we just didn’t have anything to talk about. I did my best to make the date fun. And thank God, it wasn’t a dinner date. When a date starts, you have the “exchange” part where you are essentially casting lines hoping something hooks. If it does, you’ve got conversation. When a conversation thread dies both daters feel it and it’s almost a capitulation to “cast another line.” We didn’t hook very much. The bowling really took the attention off the boring conversation. Don’t get my wrong. She was a nice girl. Teacher, worked with disabled kids, loves empanadas. But I’ve spent too long in relationships with nice girls because I was too afraid to reject them, hoping I’d fall in love with their inner self. Yea never happened.

We finished our hour of bowling but the Post was supposed to send a photographer to take pictures of us on the date. Brooklyn Bowl desperately wanted their lane back. They had paying customers. We shrugged off the manager’s dirty looks as we waited for the increasingly late photographer. Eventually he showed up and had us do a series of fun picture. While striking a pose, my bowling ball hit her bowling ball (with my finger in between the two balls.) It wasnt’ pretty.

I walked home to the Brooklyn train station alone, drunk on 3/4 a pitcher of beer, nursing my finger, pondering how I would write my mandatory recap (that had to be written by the morning for Callie.) I didn’t know how to say I wasn’t into her without making her or me sound bad. I felt because her thighs weren’t thin enough, or that her earrings were too big, or her face wasn’t pretty enough for me that that some how made me the bad guy.  And I certainly didn’t want to say that about her in print.

I made it home, threw something together and sent it off to Callie. What actually got written was a crock of shit. But what else do you expect from the New York Post?

–Big Mack Attack!

Ben’s note, here is the actual New York Post – Meet Market column. By the way, I never called her a “nice lady.”

http://www.nypost.com/p/entertainment/dating/strike_out_PAlOsfO4WEa3v9hIufxnbO

 
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Posted by on May 19, 2012 in By Mack, Dating

 

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The New York Post Date! — By Mack

My dating profile got a message one day.  But rather than the usual “BigMackAttack84? That’s a silly name” or “How can you hate the Princess Bride?” (I put that just in to grab attention,) it was a message from someone at the New York Post. Turns out they have some Dating Game/Blind Date column they run on the weekends. The gist? A girl picks one of three guys and the New York Post pays for an awkward blind first date.  Now Jack often decries the evils of News Corp and their tyrannical Aussie dictator, The Murdoch. But c’mon, the guy’s going to pay for a date, not asking me to buy blood diamonds.

I replied to the message and filled out a questionnaire and before I knew it I was off to a photo session at the News Corp building. The crusty hallways of the New York Post were not what the glamorous exterior of glass security gates and a series of check points lead me to expect. It looks closer to a crappy public school, but oh well. Callie, the girl who sent me the message, met me and lead me through the inner bowls of pure evil. I signed my rights away on some legalese contract (probably shouldn’t be writing this blog, but who cares? I’m a fictional character!) And before I knew it I was in a photo shoot.

About a week later Callie contacted me, informing me that I had been chosen. Whoo! Free datesville, population me…and some…stranger. I’d meet my future love at Brooklyn Bowl.  I arrived at the venue only to have the bouncer ask me for a cover for the show. Apparently Less Than Jake was playing. If I was still fourteen I’d have freaked out. I told him I wasn’t there for the concert. He stopped me.

“Look buddy, this is a convert venue. If you’re not going to the show you probably shouldn’t bother.”
“I’m here for this New York Post thing.”

Immediately a girl from the back of the line jumped forward.
“Did you say you were here for the New York Post date?”

With one glance of her I knew…(to be continued!)

–Big Mack Attack!

 

Ben’s note.

By the way, the real preview article (they do one before the date and one after the date) is here http://www.nypost.com/p/entertainment/dating/broadway_babe_hopes_to_cast_new_zxH8ffaxX15fvUnPJKQIyM.
Ironically, this article came out after I had been on the date. So that poll (which I kicked ass in) was completely meaningless and had no bearing on whether I was chosen or not.

 
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Posted by on May 2, 2012 in By Mack, Dating

 

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The Sports Girl – By Mack

 

Hey all. As I promised, here is the 2nd installment of “Girls Mack was seeing for brief moments.”

Much like many of these disasters, the Sports Girl started from the breeding ground of all chaos, OkCupid.  Her  Mario hatted profile picture caught my eye. Her intermittent message responses made me think we’d never actually meet. And even though she would stop converstaions randomly, her responses to my  identical bahavoir to the tune of “I guess you’re bored of me now,” should have clued me in on self esteem issues.

The first date:
Unfortunately, the Mario hat in no way correlated to an appreciation of video games. In fact, she was more interested in the very opposite, sports. She insisted on meeting at a sports bar because she didn’t want to miss a basketball game over our date.

Not a deal breaker, and to be honest, she was actually pretty alluring. Nice eyes, straight red hair that framed her face like a girl out of a shampoo commercial. Curled up in her bar chair, she was kinda cute.  I decided to push the bounds of touch early on. She instantly drew attention to it with a “your hand is on my knee.” To which I responded with “now look at that.”

By the end of the date, we were making out during commercial breaks in the game. Which is good  because we didn’t have terribly much to talk about it. I hate sports. I tried to move  it back to her place as I was getting tired of making out in the bar.  I really didn’t want to have sex with her that night. At best I’d have liked to make out with her on her couch as she watched the game. But she strongly resisted that idea.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to see her again. I could tell she wanted to be “courted” properly and I just didn’t see the attraction strong enough to invest in anything beyond anything casual. She delighted in the way I would brush the hair out of her face which made her look beautiful, but there was something that struck me as needy I couldn’t put my finger on.  If I saw her more, I was going to end up in deep.

The Second Date:
The neediness was much more apparent.  I wanted to do something relaxed and she wanted to go out for a full on dinner  and movie. Over the course of dinner we start to be honest with each other. I revealed some private details of my life and she revealed she was a virgin, a fact she seemed to be very ashamed of.  On the whole that didn’t bother me one way or another. But if we were to get involved passed this date it would require that deeper investment.

We ended up seeing a movie during which she didn’t just cuddle up against me, she was literally laying her head on my lap. She seems so safe and happy.  This made me feel very sad and sorry for her. The attraction I had felt in the bar was disintegrating.  A big part of me wanted to give her another date after this. If we had something in common, I’d could keep it going. If I didn’t feel like one more date and I’d be on the road to marriage, I’d could keep it going. But I knew that I didn’t want it to go anywhere and anything in its place would be disingenuous.

We walked from the theater. It was time to end it.
“This is my train.”
“You’re not going to walk me home?”
No, I’m sorry.” But before I could get out the sentence why, she interrupted.
“It’s okay. I won’t read into that.”
“Look, I’m sorry. I’m just not feeling it.”
I expected it to sink in for a moment, but instead she immediately snapped back.
“Okay. And that’s what happens when I tell guys I’m a virgin.”
“No it’s not that–“
But she was gone.

–Big Mack Attack

 

 
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Posted by on April 12, 2012 in By Mack, Dating

 

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The Wheel of Romance — By Mack

When it rains it pours, what’s old is new again,  two steps forward one step back, back to square one, there’s plenty of fish in the sea, there’s someone out there for you, I wasn’t looking for love, you can’t hurry love, and my personal favorite; I thought love was only just for fairy tales. These are all lovely cliches we’ve heard from friends or in songs time and again. Some of it true, some of it designed to keep us going. I may not know much about love or the inner monologue of the opposite sex, but the one thing I don’t know is that it all happens in cycles.

And after an extended time on the top of the wheel, 12 o’clock has become 6.  It wasn’t more than two weeks ago that I was messaging/texting/OkCupiding/dating 4 girls. Now 4 is a bit much for me. I’m not looking to be juggling 4 different women, but occurrences happen and you have to take opportunity when it presents itself. So over the next few posts I’ll go into detail about the rise and fall of the wheel.

The culperates are as follows.

  • The Addict
  • The New York Post
  • Sports Girl
  • Quantum_Entropy
But I’ll give you one story today.
***THIS STORY CONTAINS EXPLICIT MATERIAL***
                       Consider yourself warned
***THIS STORY CONTAINS EXPLICIT MATERIAL***

I met the Addict on OkCupid.  She seemed cool enough. Liked South Park, enjoys a good whiskey from time to time and is studying Psychology.  A girl with a drive for something is important. But we made plans to meet up and she cancelled a few times. Excuses like, I got home from work and took a nap, slept longer than I meant to, raised a bit of a red flag. My guard was up, but no reason not to meet her.

Eventually we built up enough comfort via text, and I called her a few times, and we set a date. There’s a cool wine bar on the east side that a good classy/fun first date. La Cava is the place. At first glance, her body type was a little bigger than what I’m used to (not fat but definitely pear-shaped.) But she had a pretty face and talking to her was easy and interesting. There was definitely something non-verbal going on.

As we got to chat more (around drink number 3) we started to get a little more personal. We both revealed we were into some fetish/kinky stuff. Her interests definitely complimented mine.  Then she revealed she had some “bootie calls” relationships going on. I’m cool with that. If guys can do it, why can’t women. But at this point I’m thinking this is a girl I’d like as more than just a “bootie call.” By then we were making out in the bar (being THAT couple) and decided it was time to head out.

We stumbled back to her place (on 50 something and York) and I’m wondering how she has a place there. Trust fund maybe? We’re in her bedroom and she gets a phone call. Suddenly she’s like, “You have to go.” And I’m like, “Uh…why?”

Her, “I didn’t think you’d end up back here tonight, so I got another guy coming over and he’ll be here in like 5 minutes.”
Me,”You’re seriously doing this to me?
Her, “I know. I’m sorry, what are you doing tomorrow night?”
Me, “Wait, why did you bring me back here if there was another guy coming over?”
Her, “I don’t know, he cancelled on me, but now he’s coming over.”
Me, “So let me know, if a guy did this to you, would you EVER talk to him again?”
Her, “I know. But I do like you!”

At this point she grabs my hand and is putting it down her pants. I pull my hand away. She starts rubbing her ass against my leg. All of a sudden that “pear shape” goes from sexy to repulsive. I just want to get out of there.

Her, “I’m a sex addict. I’m sorry. Will you hang out tomorrow?”

I leave.

Okay so the story wasn’t quite as explicit as I made it out to be. I cut out some details, but you get the idea.  I wandered around the streets of New York pretty much a wreck. In retrospect, I was able to see what it for what it was, a girl who is really into sex had too good of a backup plan. But in the moment, drunk, mega blue balls, and having  just been kicked out of a bedroom, I took it personally.  I felt like the thing that garbage had rejected.  I was a mix of lividly angry and broken to my core.  When you get in that head space, all you want to do is tear yourself down. And that’s pretty much what I did the whole way home.

Next: The New York Post girl (or maybe I’ll do the Sports Girl Virgin.)

-Big Mack Attack.

 
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Posted by on February 24, 2012 in By Mack, Dating

 

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But you move on. –by Mack Jack and Jill

Jack’s not doing so well.  He met this girl a few weeks ago. She was pretty hot actually. Some French girl. I was pretty surprised. Happy for the guy. But I knew it wasn’t going to work. 

 So this bitch used Jack to get back at her ex-boyfriend. 

Jill really didn’t like her.

It’s so nice to have someone to cuddle with while you watch Spirited Away. I was practically cradling her.

She was like 19. Why do older guys always go for infants?

I told Jack to keep a distance.  Have fun with her. Stay in charge.  But you can’t tell a thirsty guy to stop at a shot of water. 

I couldn’t believe she came so far to see me the first time we met up. She trained through half of Manhattan in rush hour to get coffee with me for like 15 minutes.

She just wanted a place to sleep outside of her dorm where she could smoke.  

He waited for those text messages like they were orgasms. 

She couldn’t for the life of her tell the difference between your and you’re. And God did she used “lol” so much.

I mean I get the need to have a little fun. But I think Jack falls into things. 

 Jack’s always going to take it to heart. Everything’s gonna be personal to him. He just can’t take it for what their worth. 

I knew exactly what Christmas gift to get her.

I’m always watching out for that turning point.

There’s that moment when you know you’re just wasting your time. 

When you can tell they aren’t attracted to you anymore…the text messages stop coming so fast…they’re not so excited when you plan to meet up. When you know you’re no longer the priority…

That’s when I end it. It’s better to be the dumper then the dumpie. It’s all a game. If you’re not having fun, stop playing. 

I had this friend from Paris. She said there isn’t even a word for dating in French.   

It felt so good to make her laugh. She used to be so pissed when she came to see me. The train was late, her phone wasn’t working, her ex said something mean to her. But in ten minutes I had her smiling.

It’s not real. There’s no substance there. 

That’s the beauty of these little short romances. You can be whoever and you can make your partner feel as good as they need. They’re like little escapes from reality.  

She was a brat. She threw tantrums. And the way he’d sit outside with her every time she smoked. It was like he was her puppy dog. 

She visited him when he was sick. It was too sweet of her. That’s when I knew Jack wasn’t keeping her at a distance. 

She would scratch my shoulder. With her nails. Lightly. It tickled. And I like the way she smelled. I did laundry yesterday. When I got to the shirt she slept in, I considered not washing it. I smelled it again. I think the laundromat is the one place you can smell clothes and not look like a weirdo.

But you just gotta dust yourself off. Get back out there. This wasn’t some long term relationship. Turn around time should be an hour and a half. Tops.

Jack’ll wallow. He’ll blame everything on himself. “What did I do wrong?” “Why wasn’t I good enough?” He’s sensitive. He’s not built for flings. You can tell that after five minutes of talking to the guy. I mean he still does the chivalry stuff. 

You never know how to look at yourself. You wonder about your accomplishments. Did you win them because you are bad ass or because no one else showed up? Maybe the judge was pissed at the other guy for some stupid reason. Are our miracle successes indicative of our progress or mere blips of chance?

It’s not about them. It’s about you. It’s your ride. If they wanna come along, great. If not, fuck’em. Then kick them to the curb. 

“You can’t hurry love. No you just have to wait. “

I’m just so tired of starting over.

Happy Winter Solstice. 

-Big Mack Attack

-Jack Out

 
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Posted by on December 21, 2011 in By Jack, By Jill, By Mack, Dating

 

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Wonderful World of Texting — By Mack

There’s no doubt that texting has become a dominant form of communication. It’s addicting. Especially when it comes to dating. Now some girls say they don’t respond to text messages with the Cosmo inspired line, “If a guy wants to talk to me, he can call me.”  And to that I say, don’t fall while you’re ridding around on your high horse.

Text messages are today’s love notes. They’re nuggets of spontaneity and excitement.  A phone conversation has all sorts of risk involved. First you’ve got to get her to answer. In college, before I had magical texts I had the 3 call rule. First call, no answer, message. Second call, no answer, message. Third call, done. She just wasn’t into me? Maybe.

Let’s jump into the head of a girl real quick,

Wow it’s really empty in here! HAHA Just kidding. But I do have an overwhelming desire for Pinkberry. Hey! My phone’s ringing. I don’t recognize that number. Telemarketer? Maybe it’s that creepy guy from the subway. Why did I give him my number? Maybe it’s that cute guy from the Starbucks? 

Do I want to talk to him now? I’ve got work to do/by Stacy is over and we about to open this bottle of wine/Dancing With Stars is on, fuck him. (Then I hit decline.)

Jill: I object to that misogynistic characterization of my gender!
Jill, get out of my blog post.
Jill: You’re being mega creepy!!!
Don’t you have some anime farm animals to draw or something?

Sorry about that. Now what do you suppose the chances of her calling back are? Guys, when has a girl ever called you back that early into a relationship? Girls, seriously. You’re just not going to do it. I don’t expect you to. Then when the guy calls again is he going to be mad you didn’t call back?  You don’t know. It’s just not the best situation. Now let’s jump back in to that sexy brain again.

Wow Stacy, I’m so glad we went out for 16 Handles instead of Pinkberry. Curse them for getting rid of peanut butter.

Jill: Women aren’t vapid!
Jill, out!

(PING sound.) I’ll look at that text later. Stacy’s more interesting. (Stacy goes outside for a smoke.) Let’s look at that message. Haha. Snookie is crazy and stupid. What a funny guy. 

And she messages back. See how low stakes that was? Timing didn’t matter. She didn’t need to be invested. She could enjoy the joke text all she wanted and if she didn’t message back, I’d be free to text her something else without it being a thing.

Don’t get me wrong, I like phone conversations. In fact, once things get going, one of the most exciting parts of the relationship is the nightly phone conversation before bed. But early on, especially first contact, it’s just obsolete.

Plus there’s something exciting about getting that PING sound. I think I’m developing a Pavlovian response.

-Big Mack Attack

 
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Posted by on December 7, 2011 in By Mack, Dating

 

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Shut the fuck up already! –by Jill

So I went on a date yesterday.  Cute guy.  And that part’s actually kinda significant because I don’t usually go on dates with cute guys. My rule is if you have courage to ask me out I’m probably going to say yes. I’m so glad I don’t have to go up and ask guys out.  Don’t get me wrong, if I’m at a bar guys’ll buy me drinks.  But dating is a different animal.  The guys who usually ask me out are guy on the subway (creepy) and when ever I walk into a comic book shop.

I meet  this guy at a coffee shop for our date. He shows up like 20 minutes late, but at least he texted me while I was waiting. It’s New York, trains suck. No big whoop. But when he sits down there’s this instant attraction.  It’s a combination of his looks and body language and something else. Perhaps it was the small table that made out knees bump together almost ever five minutes.  I’m thinking  jack pot.

But then the date gets going. We talk about television. That’s pretty much it. He’s a fan of comedies because when he watches TV he dosen’t like to think. (minus points) He’s an actor. But he only wants to do commercials (more minus points.) No Tom Stoppard plays? No Eugene O’Neill? When I mentioned my love of A Long Days Journey into Night…

 

…he responded, “Oh wait that’s the name of the theatre Book of Mormon is  playing at.” I think that was when I realized the date was going sour.

Now, I’ve never won any awards for brevity. Someone once even gave me the nick name “talky.” But this guy would not shut up. And his “words per minute” probably was on par with the Micro Machines guy. (Funny parody)  And he insisted on telling me about TV shows I had never seen like he was going to convince me to run out on the date and watch them.  Every time I tried to turn the conversation to something more substantive he veered it right back to television.

Part of me wants to give him another shot just because he was pretty damn hot. Maybe he was nervous? Maybe I think too much? Maybe he has a cavern of depth under this kiddy pool TV layer. It’s not like I have an army of men banging down my door for date.  And the dinner’ll be free.

 
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Posted by on November 17, 2011 in By Jill, Dating

 

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Like a Band-Aid –by Mack

 

 

So I’ve got this kind of sixth sense for when someone’s about to break up with me. It first happened when I was dating Jenna. I was 22 and she was 18. I said I’d never date that young again but Marge is  a whole other story. We made out most of the afternoon, but at this one point, the song I was a Kaleidoscopic popped into my head. The lyrics of this one section kept repeating.

And this is when I forget to breathe,
And all the things I’ve scripted 
They sound unfounded.

And it’s the look that you’re giving me,
that tells me exactly what you are thinking
this ain’t workin’ anymore. 

I walked her home and as we’re walking she says to herself  “next tree. No, next tree.” Then she turns to me and BAM. Ends it right there.  Ever since then, I’ve taken particular notice of when songs pop into my head.

I met Kelly for coffee today. I expected her to be waiting for me. Maybe I was there early, I don’t remember. I kept looking at my hands for some reason. When did they get this hairy? Kelly and I started dating off of an internet dating site.  The attitudes of most girls profiles really piss me off. Most of them try to come off as quirky and off beat but in the exact same way as the next girl. But Kelly liked action movies.

She arrived and had been shopping. I found that odd. She’s not a big spender. Once she got settled and we got through the standard pleasantries, she segued to “I’ve meaning to talk about–”
I interrupted her mid-sentence with, “This isn’t working for me.”  I leaned back and looked at the Starbucks LCD screen. The momentary display of Eva Cassidy was my safe house.

“Excuse me?” trying to deny what she had just heard.
A list of lies fired through my head. -I just not ready for a relationship-I think we’re too different-We want different things-I think you can do better (yea I actually considered saying that one.)-

But what came out was, “I don’t want to date you anymore.” And after my eyes returned to Eva Cassidy. I got up from the table and walked to the door. There I hesitated. Keep going on check in with her? I looked back and she was sitting at the table as if I were still sitting in front of her. She hadn’t moved.

I immediately walked to a deli and bought a pack of cigarettes. This pack will be the last pack.

–Big Mack At… you get the idea.

 
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Posted by on October 26, 2011 in By Mack, Dating

 

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