About a week ago, Kennedy and I were sitting outside after skating and it went something like this:
K: Did you have a lot of boyfriends in high school?
Me: Ummm… a few?
K: Did they cheat on you:
Me: Uhhh… (blink. blink.) What? Ummm… What do you think that means?
Ummmm…
Wow.
It was in that moment that Dr. Kennedy was born.
The following is a compilation of her responses. Enjoy.
We’ll shit. Here we are.
Hi.
BACKGROUND
It probably goes without saying that things didn’t quite end with Mr. Puerto Rico like I said. When I wrote the last blog, I assumed it was over. But, like a fucking clown, he said the right things and I hid my last blog entry, deleted my dating apps, and let an emotionally unavailable dude waste space in my emotionally available life. I know I sound bitter, but I’m actually much less bitter than I seem. I’m just pissed at myself for all of those times I was trying to connect emotionally, and he would respond with some random bullshit, and I let it go.
Me: Hey! If I haven’t told you lately. I like you, mmmkay. <3
PR: Hi! I’m a little stressed with everything I’m going through, but it’s ok. Not trying to push or force things, tomorrow is another day!
Me: (uhhh… ok!? We’ve been dating 4.5 months… this is obviously going well. )
THE FINALE
I’m sitting at work and PR texts to say that he’s sitting at home studying and paying bills for most of the morning. We chat back and forth a bit and I think it would be a nice surprise to Postmates he and his son some donuts for breakfast, since he had pretty much mentioned donuts every night for the past week. I placed the order with Postmates with instructions to just leave the donuts on his doorstep:
He basically went on to say that opening the door and seeing them was an unwanted distraction. Like, really!? You obviously don’t get me at all. What the fuck am I still doing here? I spent the evening texting with Michelle contemplating ending it… over fucking donuts.
Yeah. Donuts.
…but he beat me to the punch (again) and sent “Dear Jane” text number 2.
Neato.
Hinge (5)
OK. Well… Maybe I lied.
After 3 months of hanging out, and a handful of miscommunications and “WTF” moments, I had to say goodbye to one of the hottest and most epic showers I’ve ever had the pleasure of dating. You will be missed.
PROLOGUE
PR: “Well, you look like a perfectly good girl.”
Me: ‘Uh… I do? Pretty sure no one who knows me would ever say that about me. Sweet! I’ll take it!”
We didn’t talk much before meeting up. We texted briefly a handful of times before he asked pointedly whether I felt like we needed to keep talking or if we could just skip to the date part; his being good looking has its advantages, and I agreed even though I hadn’t felt any real chemistry at that point.
November 30, 2019
THE DATE
Karma Brew – Sacramento, CA
It was pouring, and despite my best attempts at not being early, I failed. I really do need to learn the art of leaving 10 minutes later like the rest of the world. I went inside, sat at the bar, ordered a sangria and he sat down beside me a few minutes later.
FIRST IMPRESSIONS
Earthy. Distinctive. Peculiar. Sexy.
Truth be told, the specifics of this actual first date are unremarkable. We sat at the bar for about an hour making small talk, then walked over to the Snug for a cocktail, then to Shady for a Midnight Stalker (my favorite drink), then stood in the rain kissing for about 20 minutes. He asked me if I wanted to come to his house and I declined. About halfway home, my hormones overrode that decision and he sent me his address. You can finish this part of the story however you’d like.
OVERALL: 5/10
The following few months consisted of about 14 moments that made me think I could fall for him, 26 moments that were cute but somehow fell flat, and 42 moments that were obvious warning signs that I vented loudly to Michelle and then promptly ignored. I mean, on paper, when you looked at what he could bring to the table, it didn’t look so good. Aside from the fact that he is unemployed, anything that involved intimacy and feelings would lead to a discussion about his wanting to stay in the present, that nothing lasts forever, and that he wants to take it slow.
Yes, I know.
Calm down, I said I liked you.
NEW YEARS EVE
A few nights prior to NYE, Mr. Puerto Rico and I discovered that we both had a romantic relationship with cornbread. I had a random box of the Kodiak cakes cornbread in my cupboard, so when I went to his house later that evening, we made it; it was the most disgusting sofa-mattress I’ve ever tasted. That night, we vowed to find the best cornbread in town. Since we had decided to spend NYE together at my place with the kids, I thought it would be cute if I would surprise them by baking a bunch of different boxes of cornbread and we could all do a blind taste to vote on which we liked most.
I spent the day running around and baking so that cornbread would be ready when they arrived. Honestly, the whole thing just kind of fell flat, and definitely didn’t have the cute factor I was aiming for. “Jeez, you think you made enough cornbread?” It was pretty much then that I realized that he didn’t get me, probably wasn’t that into me, and was likely too wounded to make any room for me in there anyhow. While there were many moments that showed that there was something there, that wall either has a solid foundation, or I’m just meh.
FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS?
I just needed him to say, “Hey! I like you, I want you, let’s keep going,” but he could never give me that. I was okay with dating him, but it felt like he wanted all of the benefits of being my boyfriend without any emotional reciprocity. I asked him if he would prefer to have more of a FWB scenario:
So basically, that is out the window because he wants a partner who is willing to be monogamous and emotionally vulnerable, without any hopes or expectations of reciprocity. Neat. Of course, he would say things like he didn’t put his “pipi’ in just anyone, but then I would like to remind him that we may (or may not) have fucked on the first date… so his credibility is a bit flawed.
THE FINAL RECKONING
I had spent the afternoon with Michelle in Lodi wine tasting, and we were laughing at some of the descriptions of the wines at M2:
I thought it was funny and posted it on my Instagram Story, but Mr. Puerto Rico no likey.
PR: “You still on Bumble? Uhh?”
Me: “You’re dumb. I thought it was pretty funny.”
PR: “Lies, but it’s ok.”
Lies? I have so many questions:
He then changed his tune and said, “I could come over later if I want”.
…if I want.
…IF I WANT!?
Would you just fucking tell me that you want to see me? I mean, seriously. Fuck!
He called me and basically said that he doesn’t feel comfortable saying it that way, just because I’m asking him to. The next day I got the “Dear Jane” text.
Preemptive Strike.
Very Nice.
When I was in high school, I was crazy about this boy… Jake Clifford. Man! SWOON! Fast forward 20 years, he and I have become friends. One night, as we were texting back and forth it occurred to me that I probably had written diary entries about him at length; that is when I discovered this little gem. A few weeks ago, I put this image on a shirt and sent it to him.
Happy Valentine’s Day, Lovers.
Confession: I, Mija Ryer, pay for Bumble.
FUCK. Fine! There, I said it.
The truth of the matter is, I’m really not into wasting my time swiping and such, I’d rather just drink my morning coffee and see if anyone that has swiped right on me piques my interest. I will say though, this has been far more entertaining than I could have ever anticipated. While it’s interesting to see who swipes right on you in general, it’s even better if they swipe on you and you know them…
And even better than that is when they swipe right on you, the morning after hooking up with your friend. Doh!!
BACKGROUND:
So, my friend use to date this guy who lives in Southern California, but eventually they split up; let’s call him Skeeter, cause that sounds like a real slimy loser name. After the breakup they would message here and there and sometimes when he came into town they would “hang out,” but for the most part, he was past tense. In passing my friend mentioned that Skeeter was going to be coming to town for a motorcycle event and that they might meet up, but I didn’t think much of it. I have never met Skeeter nor seen a photo of him before, but did know his name and some very basic information:
He lives in Southern California
He owns a gym
He rides a motorcycle
STORYTIME:
Saturday morning. Per usual, I woke up at the crack of dawn; I don’t understand it either. I made some coffee and started clearing out the cue of thirsty dudes that swipe after an unsuccessful Friday night out. If only there was a timestamp on those photos because I am willing to bet that the majority roll in at 2:15 am, and by morning I’m not quite the Southern Belle they remembered. Anyhow, as I’m questing for my future Mr. SexyPants I see a photo of a man with an albino python around his neck.
(Click.)
Skeeter, 32 (Bad name, but okay…)
(Scroll…)
Blah Blah… Southern California
Blah Blah… Gym
Blah Blah… Motorcycle
Blah Blah… Rio Linda. RIO LINDA!? RIO LINDA!?
Me: Hiya Friend! I hope you’re having a most excellent day. So, uh… question. Did Skeeter stay the night at your place last night?
Her: (Giggle-Giggle-Blush-Giggle) Yeah.
Me: Wanna ask me how I know that?
I’ll save you the groveling, but in the end, he said that it was because “the boys wanted me to invite some ladies for the club event”. He was absolutely, positively, definitely not sitting in her bed the morning after they hooked up swiping on girls for his own benefit. Nope. Totally innocent.
Skeeter must think that he is very smart. Skeeter isn’t very smart. Skeeter didn’t even bother to scroll down on my Bumble profile, or he would have noticed that I have a photo of her and me together on there…
Oh, Skeeter.
The truth is, he drugged me.
Neat.
Part of me wanted to write the details, but really there are no words to accurately describe what happened that make any fucking sense other than I should have just stopped talking to him after the first time I called him a psychopath aloud.
Bumble (4)
Random Sidenote: I am slowly realizing that the most entertaining parts of these stories are in the pre/post-date interactions, and not necessarily on the date itself. I mean, dates are fun, but don’t we all just want to know how it went wrong? I mean, obviously something went wrong if I’m writing it here, right?
PROLOGUE
We started talking and pretty unexpectedly I found that I like-liked this guy in a way that reminded me of what it feels like to be captivated by somebody. More often than not I’ll come up with some witty icebreaker, the dude bores the shit out of me, and I unmatch them five minutes later. If I wanted to talk about the weather, I’d call my father.
ME: So, if we dated, could we agree that only one of us (me) can wear a beanie at a time?
HIM: What, you think that we’ll be the most annoyingly cutest couple if we both wore beanies? Or is that where your superpowers come from too?
Yes. YES!
Within an hour, this guy charmed the shit out of me and I fucking charmed the shit out of him too.
A few days later, I was driving to Mt. Shasta for the annual Molatore Camping trip, and as we were texting he was recording a Podcast. I jokingly dared him to work the word “Armadillo” into the conversation, and didn’t think much of it until I was on my way back home and decided to put it on. Nah, he wouldn’t. Would he? You can imagine my surprise when he mentioned his “Holiday Armadillo T-shirt”. Truly, I think I yelled “NO FUCKING WAY!” about a dozen times. Honestly, it was one of the most charming and romantic gestures I can ever recall and I’m still stupid smiling thinking about it.
Everything leading up to the first date seemed to suggest that we were on the same page. Everything. He led with his heart, and I uncharacteristically followed suit.
(Cue Music: Ray LaMontagne – You are the Best Thing)
Fuck, dude.
Swoon.
I liked this guy.
I still want to say that I like this guy, but saying so makes me wrinkle my nose for reasons that will be made pretty clear shortly; stupid girl.
May 27, 2019
THE DATE
Heretic Brewing Company – Fairfield, CA
Initially we had planned that he would come to Sacramento on Sunday evening, but we pushed it to Monday and decided to just meet in the middle. Super sexy Fairfield for the win. Of course, this wasn’t ideal for many reasons, but the desire to meet him trumped all limitations. I was nervous. Like, real nervous. I consulted a panel of my closest confidants (Michelle), opted to keep the lips naked and the boobs covered, and headed toward Fairfield – the land of the beige.
I knew I would get there first, despite trying to take my time. I sat in my car for a few minutes before he texted me. I thought he was running late? Now!? Shit. Inhale. Exhale. I checked my teeth, adjusted the lady lumps, and began walking toward the entrance of the brewery when he stepped out of his truck.
FIRST IMPRESSIONS:
Tall. Cute. Sweet.
Fuck, I don’t know.
Truthfully, I don’t think I actually looked at him for the first five minutes. We ordered beers and claimed a seat on the patio where we proceeded to talk for a few hours. Perhaps this is the least interesting part of the story. Conversation was effortless, but I have little expectations for overt chemistry on the first date, especially without a little mood lighting, something. In general, if you’re attracted to them, not bored, you laugh, and you’re not checking your phone, I would consider it a win. The second date really seems to be the place where deal breakers and fireworks happen, not that I seem to be having many of those. As I sat there looking at him, my smile never went away, and when he would reach over and touch me, I wanted him to come closer. While I tried to stay in the present and enjoy his company, I couldn’t help but feel like something was off. I don’t know what I was hoping for, but this was not the way our RomCom was suppose to work. In the end, he walked me to my car, asked me to text when I got home, kissed me on the cheek, and left.
(Cue music: Lorde – Supercut)
OVERALL: 7/10
THE PATHETIC AFTERMATH
As I drove home, my intuition told me that he was disappointed, and the lil’ asshole in my head was not going to let that go. Maybe I wasn’t pretty enough. Maybe he thought I didn’t look like my photos. Am I just too…Me? Since when did I get so fucking insecure? Gross. I texted him briefly on my way home, but couldn’t shake the feeling that it was over. I was really hoping I was wrong, but his texts over the next few days pretty much confirmed what I suspected, and I knew it was time to just let it go.
Things were obviously different now.
A few more days went by and I really thought that was the end, that somehow I blew it, and that maybe I wore my heart just a little too low on my sleeve this time. Since fucking when, Mija. If you learn anything from these long musings, it is NEVER the end, especially once you’ve decided to raise the white flag in defeat. The truth is, they can say that they’re busy, not “ready”, or working on themselves, but let’s be real honest here…
If you’re confused, they don’t like you.
THE FINAL RECKONING
(I just want to preface this by saying I am open-minded, and 100% GGG. As far as I’m concerned, just about everything is negotiable, until it isn’t.)
My music was blaring, it was a zillion degrees out, and I was dancing around my house in practically nothing refusing to admit that it is officially AC season.
Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
His name was on my phone.
Da fuk?? Really?
Pretty quickly our casual conversation turned to flirting, and flirting turned into something…more. Ok, maybe he is attracted to me. Maybe he is interested in seeing me again. Maybe I just mind-fucked myself and it really has nothing to do with me. Neat. Swoon.
“I want to be your pet.”
The first time he said it, I didn’t put much thought into it.
“For sure applying to be your slave/pet”
¿Que? Maybe? Not sure how I feel about that just yet. Can we kiss first? Have a second date? As our conversation turned more risqué, he started calling me his Queen and it escalated from there. Can armadillo be our safe word? I played along, breaking character here and there to try to get a better understanding of what exactly this Dom/Sub dynamic would look like. Frankly, I was on board with exploring this as an option and enjoyed playing along, but when I suggested that we go on another date to see what kind of chemistry we have:
He went on to say that he goes back and forth between wanting love, and wanting new sexual experiences, but does not want those to be with the same person.
Uhhhhh…Ok?
Waaaaait. Hold up Mr. 92 percent. In 9 days he went from talking about whether we were going to fall in love, to telling me that he wanted to be my pet and to not catch feelings. GTFO!
Newsflash Hoagie boy, if you wanted someone to peg you and feel nothing, I might have been your girl, but you should probably have skipped all of the love, eh? Seems a bit shitty.
And for the record, I love my pets.
Bumble (3)
We started talking in the beginning of March, the day before he was leaving for Hawaii. His profile said he wanted a “cool, calm, cutie” which was so blatantly not me, I thought we would be a perfect match. I should have known better when he told me that first day that I was a “sun flower on the middle of a bed of Rose’s just shining on these mafuckas”, but I’m such a sucker for a pretty face, and we all know what he meant. Since he lives in Grass Valley, I thought it would be super classy if we met for coffee somewhere in the middle, and the irony of “The Pour Choice” in Auburn seemed too good to pass up.
March 9, 2019
THE DATE
In some ways, the date itself was fairly unremarkable. We sat outside The Pour Choice, watching the rain and talking about nothing of consequence. I didn’t get the sense that either of us were overtly into the other, but he was pretty tired from his flight and I did only have one glass of wine and wasn’t feeling particularly randy. After about an hour, we headed over to Hidden Falls Regional Park where we strolled, watched water move, kissed, mingled with some cows, and parted ways.
As I was driving home, I really didn’t know what to think of the date, but I knew that I didn’t hate it. In some ways, I was curious about him. I liked that he was genuine, smelled of motor oil and fresh sheets, and looked at me like I was the most interesting person he had ever met; his vulnerability was refreshing. I texted him, “I don’t expect you to respond, but I’m curious what you’re thinking right now”… and ten seconds later, he called me. HE. FUCKING. CALLED. ME.
OVERALL: 6/10
As you probably have guessed, this is not the end of the story, but rather the beginning of the end of the story. In the first few weeks, everything progressed normal-ish. Between the March Madness competition at the gym and our triennial TJC Inspection at work, I didn’t have a lot of free time, but I did enjoy seeing him and happily disregarded a handful of little red flags (and a lot of romantic prose). This is not to say that there was anything inherently wrong with him, just that there were a few things that I knew were wrong for me. Regardless, I thought we could take it slow and perhaps my feelings would evolve, or maybe they wouldn’t. It seemed like we were mostly on the same page, until I received a letter in the mail:
EXHIBIT A – April 10, 2019
One month after that first date
And as I sat there, all of those random texts just came flooding back…
EXHIBIT B
Say. My. Name.
Don’t overthink it, Mija.
Don’t overthink it, Mija.
Mija! Stop it!
I tried to let it go. While I can appreciate when someone is vulnerable, leads with their heart, and isn’t afraid to be open, I’m not ready to pick out curtains with anyone after four weeks. About a week after the letter, we were texting inappropriately when I realized that I’d better make it clear that we weren’t exclusive and that I wasn’t ready to make that leap – maybe ever. In case you were wondering, it went over really well:
“Fuck. Really, thanks for telling me.”
I had kind of thought that that would be the end of it, but he acquiesced the next day and said that we were on the same page; I don’t know that I ever really believed him. A few weeks later I decided that I should end it because the reality was, I didn’t want to string him along in hopes that my feelings would evolve.
(Sidenote: Apparently, this is a thing? Inferred monogamy after the first few dates. In my world, monogamy is a relationship benefit and the thought of offering that up when “dating” is completely asinine. This doesn’t mean you have to sleep with multiple people at the same time, it just means that you’re fucking dating. You know, dating. Daaaating.)
THE ENDING:
This story is pretty much over, but I do have to tell you this minor detail about the last time that I saw him that has me reeling. A few weeks back, he and I were talking about the UFC 236 fight between Israel Adesanya (my boyfriend) and Kevin Gastelum and he really didn’t appreciate it in the way that I did:
Me: SOO F’N GOOOOOD! AHHHHH! ADDDDESSSSAAANYAAAAA!
Him: Totally Lame. Womp Womp.
So, when it came time for the Golden State Warriors to play the Rockets, I knew I needed to show him who he was dealing with. Let’s just say, we watched the game at my house, and I made sure to appropriately support my new favorite team.
