You know what I strongly dislike?

I really really strongly dislike when men pull the sneaky surprise date move. Allow me to illustrate (although I'm sure the explanation is unnecessary, as it's happened to almost everyone who dates men. This shit is epidemic):

I met a man at work last week. My mentor and I stopped downstairs for coffee and ran into this guy, an employee of our agency and casual friend of hers. We made small talk, discovered we knew some of the same people (not uncommon in this incestuous field of mine) and that we had both earned our masters degrees from the same program (albeit about 20 years apart). I gave him my card . . . which is what you do when you're a few months into your new career and making new professional acquaintances.

Nothing about this interaction said "romance" -- he's a coworker, and he's significantly older (like, 25 years). It literally never crossed my mind that this was anything but a new work connection. He emailed me a short time later and suggested that we go out to lunch sometime this week. Again, nothing unusual. In fact, he went out of his way to explain that he always takes new employees out, and that he wanted to pick my brain about the suitability of a girlfriend of a mutual acquaintance.

Okay, as I'm typing this, I'm beginning to feel like a fool, like perhaps it was screamingly obvious where this was headed. . . but I'd sooner assume that my stupid, beer-guzzling, racist uncle was coming on to me than this dude. Suffice it to say that it was not on my radar.

So we go to lunch, and it's creepily date-ish. Over the top. He wants to take my arm walking to and from the restaurant. Insists on opening all of the doors. Helping me with my coat. Paying for the meal. And so on. Talks about the two of us going out this weekend with that acquaintance and said girlfriend. But here's the thing: STILL postures about giving me Agency advice and making professional connections, never comes right out and says that he's got lovin' on his mind. Which leaves me in that awkward awkward limbo. I feel like a self-involved bimbo for presuming that he's interested when he's not explicitly said so and when there are totally reasonable, plausible explanations for his every move.

And yet. . .

Yet I'm also totally on edge, uncomfortable, creeped out, and not enjoying myself in the slightest little bit.

Anyway, that's probably where it would have remained, except that my mentor came into my office this afternoon, closed the door, and tried to gauge the temperature. (She's a god-send, that one!) Turns out that he called her right after we met to ask all kinds of questions about me and happened to mention how attractive he found me. She wasn't about to meddle, but I think that she wanted to give me a heads-up, particularly when she heard that he'd taken me to lunch.

So, I recognize that I should just laugh this off -- not a big deal, right? But it infuriates me. Men seem to do this all the time: orchestrate one-on-one meetings which they bend over backward to set up as Not Dates, and then expect you to just fall into their arms once the two of you are alone. (These men, incidentally, often seem to be the ones who make up the Nice Guys Finish Last chorus, which fact perhaps helps explain my irrational anger. That cliché annoys the ever-loving piss out of me).

How difficult would it have been to call me up and ask me on a date straight away? I could have politely declined, and no one would be the worse for wear. It's still not the end of the world -- I'm just going to have to *gulp* be a grownup and have one of those dread uncomfortable conversations. But the whole scenario has left me a bit creeped out, inexplicably angry, and unfortunately wanting zero contact with someone who could and should be a lovely work friend.


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Now I'm just going to be bitchy. When did it become socially acceptable for a man old enough to have sired me (at a respectable age, no less) to make a play? I mean, dude is RETIRING this week. For the love. . .

You're a three-decker sauerkraut and toadstool sandwich
With arsenic sauce.

-Dr. Seuss, "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch", (c) 1957

*Sigh*

It's like excising a tumor, getting rid of a man who's gotten in. It's a painful and painstaking process, whether the relationship was measured in weeks or years. Initially, you feel as though you're suffocating in the him-ness of the world around you, but you lick your wounds and carefully unweave what's been woven and slowly extract yourself from the mess and sad and wrath, and before you know it, it's been a year and he's barely a flicker in the slideshow.

And then the fucker pops up again, when and where you least expect him.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Mr Guile has resurfaced. If you'll recall, it was the Rather Brutal Ending of that short but intense relationship that led me to start this (very sparse) blog. It's been about a year since we'd last connected in any way. It's been just enough time that I'd edited the story in my mind and pretty much ceased thinking of him at all, except in the extremely abstract.

Then suddenly he's there at bloody church cavorting with MY PEOPLE! I did what any grown-up would do: I snuck covert peeks until I confirmed that it was him, then pretended I hadn't seen him. I avoided that man like he was a rat in plague season. Actually, to my credit (and dismay), I didn't even notice him at first. I don't know if that's progress or funky brain chemistry.

So, he waits the obligatory day and a half, then sends me the white flag email. Hits all the right notes: breezy and casual, remorseful and snarky. Apologizes for being a prick (his word, though I can't help but agree), drops more of the IshouldhavekeptintouchbutI'msobadaboutthat, hopetokeepseeingyoumaybewecangettogetherforcoffeesometime, blah blah type chatter. Of course I responded in kind, but there's so much else I would have loved to ask.

Mr. Guile, what are you hoping to accomplish? Are you merely trying to make a potentially awkward situation a little less so? in which case, I commend you, since I likely would have continued on the "ignore it and it'll be like it's not there" path. Are you hoping to find absolution for old demons or guilt by making nice-nice to me now? Is it friendship you're hoping for? Rekindled romance? Do you even know?

Then, while we're being honest and open, there are a bunch of other things I could tell you. Like how enraged I am that after all this time, the shock of seeing you nearly knocked me over. Like that in some ways, I'm still so terribly hurt and angry over how things went down between us. Like how I have to admit (squirming, uncomfortable) that a not-insignificant part of me immediately wondered if this was a sign that we should start things again, and how that thought simultaneously filled me with joy, foreboding, and much discomfort. Like how the chemistry between us is intense enough – at least on my end – that merely being in the same room made me woozy and wobbly-kneed.

Seriously? Go directly to hell, Mr. Guile. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200. Do not mess with my head or my heart again. I need this right now like I need an extra set of tits.

A follow-up to my earlier post about this town being too small for internet dating:

That same guy approached me again the other day. At the same coffee shop - go figure. It was similarly awkward: he packed up his books to leave, then walked over with a sorta shy smile and said hi. But in a rather more familiar way than one would expect from the random dude at the next chaise over. I smiled and returned the greeting, but obviously not in a warm enough fashion.

His smile faltered a little, and he said, "You don't remember me, do you?"

Beat. Uh-oh. Buddy, I'm up to my ears in the Internal Revenue Code, and I'm not even sure I'd recognize my own mother if she approached me here (actually, combine my complete lack of facial memory and inability to place people out of context with my inexplicable refusal to respond to e-dating emails...no wonder I'm chronically single).

"Um, no. Sorry."

"Yeah, I talked to you once before, about recognizing you from..."

(Me, frantically interrupting): "Right, oh yeah, sorry."

Followed by about three minutes of uncomfortable chatter.

I can't believe I'm here again.

I think I hear my exit music. This town is too effing small for me to keep on with this online dating business. And let us be honest: I haven't really been an active participant in a while anyway.

So, I'm studying at a coffee shop today. Haven't really done that this semester, but I just needed to not be in the library today. I noticed this guy kinda smiling and looking at me a couple of times. Finally, he sort of gestured toward me and said, "are you a law student?"

Me: "I am."

Him: "I bet you'll never guess how I know you."

Me: "ummm...nope. I have no idea."

Him: "xckvjnkjhfk"

Me: "Sorry – I didn't quite catch that."

Him: "Did you used to do online dating?"

Me: "I did."

Him: "Yeah, I've seen you. I winked at you. Or maybe even wrote to you. You never responded."

Me: "That's kinda my MO. I never end up writing back to anyone."

...then a bunch of awkward chit chat about small Ann Arbor. Gah. That's the second time this has happened to me. And that's just the times that the guys have said something. Now I have to wonder how frequently people recognize me and don't say anything. This is in pretty serious conflict with my everbloomin' desire to be invisible (except when I don't want to be...you know how it is.) As drama goes, this is small time. But it did give me the mild willies.

And just like that, she realizes she's over it.

I'm still in a bit of a panty-bunch. Fer real.

It's kind of remarkable that a 31 year old woman who more or less has her shit together can be so emotionally derailed by romance funktitude. By now, the whiplash has worn off and I'm starting to accept that things with Mr. Guile are on ice...probably permanently. So, okay. We were only dating for a few weeks - I can't imagine that there'll be much of anything like the mourning process of ending a real relationship. But goddamn. Every once in a while the Sad just kind of creeps up on me, and I want to lay down and wail. For those few weeks, it was good. Really good. There's nothing quite like the bite of that loss.

Letting go. *Sigh*