Not much has been going on in the world of Tinder for me… mostly because I kind of stopped using it.
Ok, yeah, I deleted the App again.
That bad date with the Marine left a bad taste in my mouth… figuratively and literally. Figuratively because he was a bit of a douche, and literally because in my nervousness I forgot the proper mix for my vanilla chai frappucino made with soy, add vanilla bean. It took me 10 years to get the formula right, and now I go to Starbucks so infrequently that I’d forgotten how to order it.
I’m not exactly a coffee junkie…
And while I was fumbling over that, it was humid and my face was melting a little bit, and here was this not unattractive, but not really my type, guy who was kind of looking at me like I was a liar because in my pics I tend to take my glasses off so people can see my eyes, and I very carefully don’t show any cleavage shots in the attempt to keep people from realizing that I have big boobs.
For some reason, most men equate big boobs with a little brain. Even the Pirate has (on many occasions) talked down to me like I’m an idiot, although I think perhaps he’s just that fond of himself that he assumes no one else can keep up with him. Or he’s actually unaware of the fact that every time I speak he interrupts me and makes some condescending comment that makes me feel like I’m four years old and need my Papi to tell me what to do.
And because he doesn’t really know my struggle, often his advice is totally wrong for my situation.
Like he can’t understand why I haven’t gotten a summer job yet, and asks every time we talk how the job hunt is going… like my mother sometimes does.
Well, let’s see, I have Asperger’s Syndrome, and I don’t function well without a routine. Two weeks ago, I was forced to uproot myself from my well-established routine in a quiet house, where the people leave me to my own devices and don’t really bother me at all, to a loud Spanish-speaking house (meaning I can’t always understand what’s being yelled up the stairs or to whom it’s directed), where what I was told about the shower schedule and the reality hasn’t been exactly matching, and I can’t always cook what I want because my groceries tend to disappear because the Abuelita comes over and cooks (feeding me, too) using my groceries.
A survived a week of that, trying to deal with an absolute lack of my usual routine, while trying to survive the last week of school, meaning the normal schedule at school was ALSO disturbed, and every day on my conference period, I had to lock myself in my classroom in the dark and listen to soothing sounds just so I could unwind from the anxiety of a break in my routine.
Then, after a week of that, I thought, “finally, I can get adjusted to the new place,” only to have my bank account go absolutely haywire, my rent check to bounce, and to have to spend a day and a half trying to find a solution to that. All of which the Pirate is aware of because he told me how proud he was of how I handled it.
In the last sixteen days, not two days have been the same in a row.
The only constant is that my body, no matter what time I go to bed, will wake up between 6 and 6:30. Even then, sometimes I go back to sleep, and sometimes I stay awake. Like today, where I’m trying to rush and get this done before I have to go meet my new therapist for the first time… still no consistency…
And when I tried to explain about my new living situation, how, even though it’s absolutely chaotic, it’s the first time I’ve felt like I actually belonged and was cared for by the people around me in months, he interrupted me to explain why it wasn’t really a good situation. Not once, but twice.
So I quit talking.
And when he finally noticed and asked me to continue, I told him that there was no reason because he was just going to interrupt me again. At which point, I was already angry and really didn’t have anything else to say. And that’s when he finally decided to not talk over the top of me…
Meanwhile he was cooking. This was all happening on our date last night, where he was cooking for me… cooking what I thought was going to be traditional Puerto Rican food. Instead, he made traditional Puerto Rican food and then turned it into a grilled chicken and fried plantain sushi roll… complete with the seaweed paper, giving it a decidedly fishy flavor. He used too much rice, making it difficult to eat, and served it with soy sauce, which was unnecessary, except that there was too much rice and it needed something.
It wasn’t bad, but it was not quite what I’d expected. I think he might have been trying to impress me with his quirkiness. Or perhaps he just likes being experimental with his food, which does, actually seem to be a thing for him.
He doesn’t drink, except to taste something to enjoy the flavor, but alcohol doesn’t have a good flavor. Except Saki, he tells me. I’ve never had it, so I can’t comment on that, but I’ve had some alcoholic drinks that I thought were tasty, and I’m kind of finicky about some things.
On the other hand, my mother would tell you I’m adventurous. I’ve had haggis (though it put me in the hospital because it made me vomit for like 12 hours straight), and my mother thought it weird that I would eat escargot when we were on a cruise once.
Then again, on that same trip, she made me eat on the couch instead of with them at the table when I got sushi, because she was afraid it would gross her friends and my aunt out to see me eating raw fish. That same trip, I had fried Yucca at a Cuban restaurant in Miami and got us a “Friends and Family” discount at an authentic Italian restaurant because the guy thought I was from Italy, and could tell that I didn’t really fit in with the old ladies and the teenager wearing their fanny packs and Aggie Mom shirts.
But I digress…
The Pirate cooked, and he talked at me for the majority of the evening. So much so that I actually pulled out my laptop so that I could do anything other than speak to him, but I was so frustrated all I did was jump from site to site, not stopping on anything until I got back to Facebook and remembered that I’d saved a video just for the Pirate.
And then, because he’d showed me pictures of his family, I offered to show him pictures of mine. Well, I asked if I’d shown him pictures of my Mom, since I knew we’d talked about how she and I look different (because I’m adopted).
He made it through one picture. One. Before pulling out his tablet to show me his family again. And I tried to ignore it and show him some more of my stuff, and he just kept on talking about his pictures until I finally audibly sighed and put my computer away, put all of my stuff away so I could leave.
Yeah. I was ready. To get the fuck out of there before I lost my temper with him.
When he walked me to my car, he congratulated me on not jumping him. We’d had a bet… he didn’t think that I could go an evening without at least trying to kiss him.
And now I wonder if the kissing thing hadn’t been forbidden, would I have done that just to shut him up?
Meanwhile, he was so oblivious to my discomfort that he made plans for us to go to the movies on Thursday. I like him, I really do, so I agreed to go… Which means no #JustAddTea this week… unless someone wants to step up and host for me. Or I can set it up to do all automatically. Not sure how I’m going to handle it at the moment. I managed not to cancel last week in spite of the bad date with the Marine, but that was coffee at 3 in the afternoon… This is a movie, and probably some sexy time with a guy who does make me feel really good, though he’s not nearly as talented as he likes to believe himself to be…
That’s a conversation for another day. Preferably saved for if this implodes like I’m kind of expecting it to.
I did actually call him when I got home, after talking to my mother about it all, because it really bothers me that when he talks, he talks at me instead of to me, and he can’t let me get more than a sentence and a half out before he’s interrupting me. After about 15 minutes of me telling him exactly how it made me feel bad and how it was very unpleasant and I didn’t know if he was aware that he did it or not (15 minutes uninterrupted because I pointed that out straight away), he told me “it was fine,” apologized, and then explained how he tends to make people act this way because he doesn’t get to talk to people much and gets carried away when excited.
I decided that, rather than get angry at the fact that his lack of tone suggested that everything I said went in one ear and out the other (especially since apparently I’m NOT the first person to point it out to him), I’d take a compliment at the fact that he said it’s a thing that happens when he gets excited.
I told him as much, and he told me well, he gets excited because he can talk and not have to explain himself to me. A lot of times that’s because once he’s made me upset I kind of stop listening. Like it gets filed away without me really hearing it. I can pull it out of my memory if he gives me a hint, but I’m not listening anymore, unless it’s a thing I’m interested in.
He ended the conversation with another explanation of why he’s such a good lover: it’s not because he’s really that good, but because most people have just had a bunch of bad sex, and that’s sad. It took every ounce of self control I had not to tell him that he’s good, but he’s not excellent. I can list 4 lovers without even going that far back in my memory that were better… but that would be rude.
The point? He says he’ll try not to talk down to me or interrupt me, or act like my father. We’re going to the movies on Thursday, so we’ll see if he really can handle it. But I swear, if he does it again, the gloves might come off. It was one thing when I thought it was nerves. It’s a whole other thing if he’s just that egocentric.
He’s more Gail Wynand than Howard Roarke, with maybe a little Peter Keating mixed in: There’s potential there, but he’s applying it wrong and needs to be shown the way before he lets it die.
(That’s a Fountainhead reference for anyone who’s not a big Ayn Rand fan…)