On Tuesday, August 11th:

"We're going to have to send you to a specialist."
I knew it. I suppose my crappy student insurance won't cover this.
Me: "Really? My friends say they come here for their gynecological exams."
"Yes, we do annual exams, but we don't have a staff gynecologist in the student clinic or on campus. For the issue that you're describing, we'll have to refer you to a gynecologist in town."
"Alright... let's go ahead and do that then."

I follow the nurse (Mary) into the staff lounge where she briefly explains to another nurse (Sharla) that they need to schedule me an appointment at the women's clinic in town.

Sharla looks at me and asks "Do you have insurance?"
"Yeah, I have the student one."
"So you'll still be a student in the fall?"
"Yeah..."
"I'm just asking because the insurance year ends this Saturday. So if you weren't still a student, then insurance wouldn't cover any appointments after Saturday."
"Oh, that makes sense. I should be okay though; I'm registered for classes and everything, and I didn't request an insurance waiver."
"Okay, you'll be fine then; you'll still have insurance. Your deductible will still expire though this Saturday, if you've already paid that."
"Ooohhhhh... actually, I did. I had a mammogram last December and I paid the entire deductible then."
"You'll have to start over then on Saturday, so let's try to get you an appointment this week."
"Yes please, that would be wonderful."
"Come this way, let's set up your appointment."

I follow them into a different examination room and sit on the vinyl bed couch thing (honestly, doctors have the weirdest furniture), while one starts typing away and the other pulls papers from files.

Me: "I hope there are openings this week... We can tell them I'm in extreme pain and must have an appointment as soon as possible."
"Are you in extreme pain?" asks Sharla.
"No... but if we tell them that, then maybe I'll get in this week!"
"*Laughs* Bless your heart. Are you able to be examined right now? You're not starting your cycle this week?"
"Oh yeah, my period was a little while ago. I should be fine this week."
"Maybe that's the approach we can take then. Do you have a preference for a male or female doctor?"
"FEMALE. Most definitely female."
"*Laughs* Alright, let's see if we can get you an appointment with Susan Ellwood. She's a nurse practitioner but she has worked with gynecologists for years; I'd trust her with absolutely any women's issue I'm having. Are you okay with seeing a nurse?"
"I am okay with anyone, as long as she's a woman."
"*Smiles* Great, let's see if she's available."

*Dials phone*
"Hello, I'm calling from Student Health; I need to make an appointment for a client. Does Susan Ellwood have any availability this week?
Oh, okay.
Right."
Oh no...
Sharla covered the receiver to tell me, "She's on vacation. Would Monday at 2:00 work?"
Crap. This is going to cost hundreds of dollars I don't have.
"Sure..."
Sharla starts talking into the receiver again. "Yes, that works. Social Security number is..."

Hmmm.... I wonder if the other gynecologists in that office could see me this week. Surely she would have requested another female doctor if there was one on staff... But maybe not?

"Birthday is..."

The other gynos are probably men. Ugh, a strange man touching my vagina? God, no. No way. But... it's a 400 dollar deductible... that's a lot of money...

"Thanks, you have a good day too.
Alright, Anonymous Virgin, your appointment is at 2:00 on Monday. Is it okay if I talk to you about what to expect during your exam?"

"Yeah, of course. Well, actually... um... do you think one of the other doctors there would have an opening this week? I just don't make a lot of money..."
"I can call back and ask. All the other doctors there are men though. Are you comfortable with that?"
No. No no no no no no no no. But it's 400 dollars...
"No... but maybe I'll just have to suck that up. If I get in this week, it's free, and that would be awesome."
"Do you want me to check?"
"Umm... yeah. Can you? Sorry, I'm being a pain."
"It's no problem. And it's slow today, I have nothing else to do anyway."

*Dials phone*
"Hello, I'm calling from Student Health again for Anonymous Virgin. Do any of the gynecologists have an opening this week? It's an insurance issue.
Dr. Aronson on Thursday..." *Writes down information*
Turning to me, she asks, "Does 11:00 on Thursday work?"
"Yes! Yes it does."

OH MY GOD, why did I just say that? An 80-year-old man who I've never met before is going to stick his wrinkly fingers up my vajayjay, and I just AGREED to this?! For 400 dollars... what a cheap whore I've turned out to be.

"You're all set for your Thursday appointment then! I'm glad you got Dr. Aronson, he's really good. The other men there are older and... *cringes and shakes head.*"

So this one is young? Good. I wonder how young... Probably his 40s. Or maybe he's 34 and single and gorgeous, and he'll love my candid honesty and sense of humor - and then be wowed by my beautiful naked body which he will promptly see. What a unique way to meet my boyfriend! And how ironic that I've had all this trouble with men because I don't put out right away and then I end up marrying a man who saw me naked and felt me up within seconds of meeting me. And I never would have met him had I had sex with someone else because then my little hymen problem would have been taken care of at that time, albeit painfully. It was meant to be! This is perfect.

"Now I'm going to talk to you about what to expect during your exam on Thursday."
She goes into intimate detail but all I hear is "man touching your vagina, shove things into vagina, ouch, general awkwardness." I'm nervous... please be cute and single.

*******************************************************************************
On Thursday, August 13th:

Clock reads 10:00. Oh no, I've slept through my alarm. I had spent the entire night watching the Perseids meteor shower. It's no wonder I wasn't able to wake up at 9:00 after going to bed only 3 hours before that.

I’ve heard of women getting dressed up for the gynecologist, and having never gone myself, it’s only now that I finally understand. A man who I’ve never even seen before is about to get right up in my hoo-ha, so you can be damn sure I want to look as hot as possible for the sake of my tender ego. I have 40 minutes to shave my legs and make myself look fabulous. Thank goodness I already trimmed my pubic hair before Tuesday’s appointment.

Amy Winehouse eyeliner and my glamorous red dress that hugs every curve?

Mmm… perhaps not. That may be just a tad inappropriate. I need something easy to change out of and makeup that I can finish in a breeze. Navy fit and flare with yellow polka dots… shoes that match my red glasses...

Yes. Perfect. To the gyno I go! As I'm driving, I start getting that tight feeling in my gut that always accompanies general panic.


It's okay, deep breaths. Remember that it's okay he's going to ram his fingers inside you because he's going to be young and single and fall madly in love with you! ... Oh, who am I kidding? This is going to be terribly unpleasant, I'm going to feel all kinds of violated, and the vagina fairies in your little fantasy land are only mocking you.

I pull up to the women's clinic, approach the door, and... "Office closed. Building available for rent." Oh, great. Naturally, the virgin can't even locate the gynecologist's office. Okay, it's got to be around here somewhere; Google Maps says right here. Try that building up the hill.

I open the door and… where’s the receptionist? Am I at the back door? I walk back outside and around the edge of the building. I don’t see any other doors… What the hell?! Is this a crack house in elaborate disguise? Who doesn’t have a receptionist at the front door? They probably see me wandering aimlessly out here and I’m about to be shanked. I walk to the opposite side of the building and AHA!  THIS must be the main entrance. Honestly, who puts the front door on the opposite side of the parking lot? Crack lords, that’s who.

“Hello, may I help you?”
“Hi, yes, I have an 11:00 appointment. Sorry I’m a couple minutes late; I couldn’t find the building and then I couldn’t find the door.”
“Oh, bless your heart.”

People keep telling me that’s an insult down here. Is she calling me stupid? Excuse me, I’m not the one who put the door on the wrong side of the building.

Ms. Cracklord-Henchman (Do drug lords have henchmen? Or thugs? Or just dealers perhaps. Clearly I need to brush up on my illegal stimulant expertise) hands me paperwork to complete. As I am answering all these questions, my heart rate is increasing and that tense feeling in my gut is getting worse.

Use of tobacco products:_____

I think my ladybits are tingling. They’re nervous too. What is going to happen today? Is he going to try to complete a standard annual examination even with my hypothesized septate hymen in the way? That couldn’t feel pleasant. The tampon was painful enough. Oh, what was the question? Tobacco, right. Oh, this is awful. I cannot even focus and stay on task for 10 seconds.

I miraculously manage to write answers to all the questions, and within minutes a nurse calls my name. “Right this way.” I follow her into an examination room, where she asks me more questions about my personal habits before finally getting to the point of my visit.

“Are you here for your annual exam?”
“No, I had an incident a couple weeks ago where I was able to finally successfully insert a tampon but then it got stuck on a piece of skin, and I couldn’t get it out. I just want that extra skin removed.”

This would be a mortifying conversation with anyone else but I’m actually surprised how easy this is to talk about when I know these people are in the medical profession. She writes some notes as I elaborate and afterward says, “Alright, just wait here and Dr. Aronson will be with you shortly.”

Okay, here we go. My anxiety levels are reaching their peak now, and it’s getting harder to breathe. It’s going to be fine. And remember, maybe he’s 34 and single! Keep it together. Panic attacks are not sexy.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Aronson, nice to meet you,” he says as he extends his hand. I know where that hand has been. Dr. Aronson looks to be in his forties and is wearing a wedding band. Oh well. The fantasy was fun anyway.

“Hi,” I say as if I’m a nervous schoolgirl speaking to a male for the first time in her life.
“So I understand you’re here for a problem you’re having.”
“Yeah… I Googled, and I think I have something called a septate hymen.” I thankfully remember how to talk again, and I go on to tell him the whole story.
“Well, we’ll certainly have a look and see what’s going on. That’s great that you did some research on your own, and you probably discovered that women are born with hymens as a barrier, and they open up and take on different shapes as women grow into adulthood. You can have a little extra hymen tissue without it being a full septum. I suspect what we’re going to find is that you just have a more prominent hymen, and that’s what’s causing you problems.”

He goes on to tell me about imperforate hymens, a horrifying story of young teenagers who have no hole at all and end up requiring minor surgery to allow them to excrete their menstrual blood, and then more stuff that I’m not hearing because I’m far too busy trying to fight off the horrible mental image of the scenario he just described.

“I’m going to step out for a minute so you can change.”

Wait, what? I missed that segue. Oh God, it’s time. He exits and closes the door behind him. I step into the little changing room and find a stack of disposable peach-colored things and another stack of disposable white things. Umm… what am I supposed to do? I’m sure he told me which one of these to use. Pay attention next time! I take my dress off and start unfolding the peach thing when the nurse steps in and says, “Oh, you don’t have to take your dress off. Just use one of these.” She unfolds one of the white things, which I now see is a disposable lap cover. “Just slip your panties off, sit up here, and place this on your lap.”

“Alright.” I put my dress back on and do as she says. I notice the chair has little pedals. Those must be for my feet… Makes sense I suppose. Where else would my legs go?

She sees I am situated and then comes back with Dr. Aronson. Oooohhhh, I can’t believe this is happening. I actually like Dr. Aronson; he’s very friendly and laid back. But no matter how wonderful a person is, stripping and spreading for him on command is just terribly awkward.

He sits right in front of my crotch and says, “Scooch down a little right to the edge here.”
How does one choose this profession? ‘Let’s see… neurosurgery, dermatology, looking at vaginas all day… I’ll take the latter!’
“Good, right there. I’m going to perform an exam now.”
Me: “I want to die.”
The nurse half-laughs while saying, “Just sit back and go to your happy place…”

Here we go… I feel his fingers as he uses them to explore in my labia. Okay, this isn’t so bad. He does this every day; it’s not a big deal to him. This doesn’t hurt at all. In fact, it feels kinda nice. Does that make me a pervert?

“Your hymen does look pretty prominent.” He pulls a long Q-tip out of a container and holds it up high so I can see. “I’m going to use this to feel around, okay?” I still feel his fingers on my labia and then feel the Q-tip touch me around my vaginal opening and apparently my “prominent” hymen. This really isn’t so bad. It’s a little awkward – okay, very awkward – but he’s being very delicate and slow with everything and nothing feels unpleasant.

“You have a very prominent hymen,” he says as he pulls his hand away and drops the Q-tip in the trash. “You wouldn’t be happy with me if I tried to insert a speculum and do an exam. You can sit back up.” I cooperate, and he proceeds to grab a napkin and an ink pen from the table behind him. He starts drawing a vagina – my vagina. Pointing to his napkin art, he says, “The urethra is here, here’s the vagina, and here’s…”

“The butt,” I say.

“Yeah.” He continues to draw inside the vaginal opening to show me the extent of this “prominent” hymen. Apparently he really meant it when he said that. I’m looking at an image comparable to this:

“Your hymen extends all the way up to here. I’m not sure what you saw the other week, but there’s additional tissue up here and over here and over here – a little flap here. It could have been this.”
Me: “Okay… so, what does this mean?”
“With this amount of hymen tissue, a minor surgery may be necessary.”
“Would you just cut it all off?”
“No, that wouldn’t be necessary. I would cut here and here to allow your vagina to open up.” He draws a few lines from the edge of my hymen to the edge of my vagina. “Technically, I could do this in the office to cut back on costs but I wouldn’t recommend it. It would be a much more uncomfortable experience for you here. I would much rather do this in the hospital where I can control bleeding.”
He continues for a while, explaining that he would numb the area and inject me with something-I-don’t-hear-because-I’m-panicking-over-the-idea-of-shots-and-blades.

“What happens if I don’t have this surgery?”
“I wouldn’t recommend using a tampon again. And a full exam would be very uncomfortable for you and difficult to do.”
“What if I want to have sex?”
“That could be difficult. You would tear and bleed; it would be painful.”
“Well… can he get it in?”
“That could be a problem.”
I’m silent for a few seconds. “What should I do? I don’t know what to do.”
“Well, that’s up to you. You might want to wait and see. Or we can proceed with this surgery. There’s no rush, you can do this whenever you’re ready.”

I’m silent again. I feel so overwhelmed. This is not how this appointment was supposed to go. I was supposed to have one little extra piece of skin and he was going to snip it off right now, and I’d go home with a fully functioning vagina ready for tampon and penis insertion. Surgery? In a hospital? Oh, this is awful. And I make 10 grand per year! How can I even afford this?

Me: “So if I don’t have this surgery, I can’t have sex?”
“It would be painful, and you would bleed. Insertion would be very difficult.”

As much as I want to convince myself that there’s a chance I could have sex without this surgery, I know his warnings are accurate. And I know firsthand that I wouldn’t be able to handle the pain of penis insertion due to all my failed tampon attempts over the years, the particularly painful experience I had a couple weeks ago, and a failed finger-fucking (That happened a couple months ago; I’ll tell you that story later. Long story short, that finger was not going inside me.). Honestly, pulling on that tampon was excruciating. I don’t ever want to go through that again. And that was a TAMPON. It’s the width of a finger. I couldn’t handle an actual finger either; it felt like he was hitting a wall – a very painful wall, and now I know why! There really is a wall in my vagina! This explains so much... Can you imagine what an entire penis would feel like? No. I know he is right. I will require this surgery before I can have sex and before I can use tampons and start my annual exams (which I should have started years ago anyway).

Me: “Okay. I don’t know what to do right now. What should I do?”
“Why don’t you think about it for a while? If you decide you want to do this, just give me a call and we’ll schedule your surgery when you’re ready.”
“Umm… okay. I’ll think about it.”
“You’re all done for today then. Do you have any other questions?”
“No. I don’t think so.”

I think he sees that I’m upset because he starts asking me about school and my career and makes a little small talk. I do like Dr. Aronson. I think I’ll just come here from now on and bypass Student Health for any women’s issue I ever have. We talk for a minute, and he says goodbye after instructing me to get dressed. He leaves, and I put my panties back on before the nurse steps in to hand me some paperwork and send me off.

I walk out to my car, a little jostled from the news I just received. What am I going to do?

Hi, everyone! After that long hiatus, I am finally feeling fantastic. Two weeks ago, I defended my master’s thesis. What a relief! That project has been impressively single-handedly sucking all the joy, time, and sanity out of my life for the past two years; and my vocabulary does not contain words of an appropriate level of intensity to exclaim how exuberant I feel to finally be rid of that curse and to at last have a degree to show for all my hard work. PhD is still a few years away, but that doesn’t make this milestone any less satisfying.

I have spent the past two weeks sowing out on the couch and binge-watching Orange is the New Black and New Girl. Glorious. Best vacation ever. Well hello again boredom, I forgot how wonderful you can be sometimes! You and me together forever, what do ya say?

Right now, I’m at a coffee shop because as fulfilling as it is to lie around drooling in my apartment with no accompanying guilt, it is refreshing to see the sun after prolonged periods of time. And to move.

I’ve been up to a few things over the past several months, the first being swim lessons! The campus recreational center offers adult swim lessons, and despite my classmates still being a decade younger than I am, I have been having a blast! Every Tuesday and Thursday evening, I leave all pride at the door and shamelessly grab a foam noodle and flippers before cautiously climbing down into the shallow end of the pool. My instructor has been awesome and gives each of us the individual instruction that we need. So far I’ve learned how to float on my back and how to “freestyle,” and last time we started learning the basics of treading water. Just to add to the juvenility of this situation, I’ve been fortunate that my period has been late this month because I have never in my life been able to insert a tampon. I’ve tried a thousand times but I always seem to hit a wall – a very painful wall – less than two inches in. Tonight is the last lesson of the summer, so imagine how disappointed I felt this morning when my period started.

Fuck. I really wanted to master treading water today.

I was about to call the pool office to inform them I’d be missing my swim lesson tonight, but I decided to try once again to get this tampon inside me. You’re 29 years old. 12-year-olds can do this. You can insert this tampon. You are a strong, independent, tampon-inserting woman. Take a deep breath; relax…

The next 37 minutes were spent contorting my body into all sorts of weird positions.

• Lying down. Ow… ouch ouch ouch! Angle it upward – ouch. Downward – ow. To the side – AH!
  

• Lying down with legs in the air. Oh, God! Bend knees. Worse!
  

• Copying the girl on the Tampax instruction sheet with one foot on the floor and the other on the toilet seat. Kill me now.
  

• Sitting on toilet with one leg on sink and the other on the bathtub. Why is there a wall in my vagina?
  

• Place cosmetic mirror on floor and squat above it. Aaaaaa-gony!  Squat with one leg while lifting other onto toilet seat. I should have been a gymnast.
  

• Desperately trying instruction sheet pose again. I got farther this time. It’s not hurting… Oh my god, the applicator is all the way in. I guess I’ll try to push the tampon all the way up inside now. Oh my gosh… oh my gosh! I can’t even feel it! IT’S IN!!! OH MY GOD!!! AFTER ALL THESE YEARS!!! I DID IT!!!
  

I’m a new woman. I wear tampons. Good-bye, pads! In fact, what am I going to do with all the ones I have? Is there a donation service for poor souls like the 10-minutes-ago-me who haven’t mastered the tampon struggle yet?

******************************************************************************

2.5 hours have passed since I wrote that last passage. Let me tell you what happened within that time frame… (I don’t ever mention blood in the rest of this passage but if you’re squeamish or just generally uncomfortable with period talk, you may want to skip this.)

I stood up from my seat in the coffee shop to take a tiny break from writing this blog and to go use the restroom. Sparing you the details, I immediately discovered that it was time to change my tampon. No biggie! I’m a pro now; I’m confident I can do this again. What I was not expecting was the immense amount of pain I felt when I first tried to pull the tampon out. Okay, relax. It probably hurts because it has expanded now. Just go slow. As much as I pulled, that tampon went nowhere, and each tug felt as painful as all my earlier attempts did to insert the stupid thing to begin with. Let’s try one leg on the toilet seat again. Oops, pants are in the way. Off they go! I tried pulling again and again to no avail. Now I’m standing in a public restroom, half-naked, with a tampon stuck inside me, and I hear knocking on the door. Great, there’s a line forming out there. “Just a minute!” COME ON, YOU STUPID THING. COME OUT. No luck. Okay, you’re stressing out. Your muscles are probably contracting, and there’s no way you’re going to get this horrible thing out of your body if you can’t relax. Just go home. I stuck a pad to my panties, put my clothes back on, and left.

Upon arriving home, I fled to the bathroom, stripped completely, and tried again. Same problem. After about 30 minutes of persistence, a variety of positions, intermittent wincing and sobbing, and consistent pain, I got the tampon down to the edge of my vaginal opening. I bent over to visually examine the situation before finding something quite unexpected. The source of my problem was a thin piece of skin – like a thick string – stuck around the tampon. At first I thought I must have been mistaken but the discomfort I then felt when touching that skin confirmed that it was in fact part of my body.

WTF?! Is this even possible?! What is wrong with me?!

I tried to push the tampon in a little and push the skin aside but it was too painful to continue. In a state of panic, I called my friend to tell her what was happening and to ask her if she had ever experienced this. She had not. We agreed I needed to call the medical clinic on campus immediately.

*Ring ring*
“Student Health Services, how may I help you?”
Me: “Hi… is there a gynecologist available? I need to talk to her; it’s an emergency.”
“We don’t have a specialist, but we have physicians who can handle such matters.”
Me: “Okay, can I speak to one?”
“The nurse is available; you can speak to her.”
Me: “Okay, great, thanks.”
“Hello, this is Sharla.”
Me: “Hi, um… I used a tampon for the first time today, and I can’t get it out. There seems to be a piece of skin that it’s stuck on.”
“Okay, well come right in, and a physician will get it out for you.”
Me: “Okay, the receptionist said there’s no gynecologist, but is there a female doctor I can see?”
“They’re all on vacation right now; we only have men here today.”
Oh Lord, my worst nightmare. A man is going to pull a tampon out of my body. I can’t handle this.
Me: “Okay… do I have to see one of them? Can you help me?” Lady, you have to help me! Have a soul!
“I can assist, but you’ll have to see one of the physicians.”
Me: *Embarrassingly uncontrollable sobbing* “Oh no… oh, this is awful. Can I get a referral to somewhere else in town?”
“We can do that, but you’ll have to pay for their services. It’s free if you come here. I’m so sorry this has happened to you. If you come here, we can help; we’ve taken out plenty of stuck tampons before, it’ll be okay.”
Me: “Okay… I guess I’ll come in. Oh, this is mortifying…”
“It’s going to be okay; tell me your name again. We’ll be expecting you.”
Me: “Okay, thank you for your help. I’ll be there soon.”

A male who I have never met before is going to remove my tampon. Is this actually happening? Or worse – the nice older male physician who I have established a professional relationship with is going to pull a tampon out of me. How can I ever look him in the eye again? No no, I can’t handle this. You’ve got to remove this thing yourself.

I took a deep breath, held it, clenched my teeth down, and pushed that tampon inward and to the side while I forced the skin to the other side. Success. “Oooohhhh, thank God… Oh, I did it.” I took a few moments to catch my breath again before texting my friend the joyous news.

“Haha, good for you! And make an appointment for a female gyno to get that checked out!”
Me: “Yeah, no kidding…”

I spent the next 30 minutes consulting my favorite physician: Google. He knows everything, never judges, cannot see my face, and is not a professional colleague. All wonderful qualities. According to Dr. Google and the online testimonials of women who had the exact same experience I just did, it appears I may have a “septate hymen.” According to medical websites, a septate hymen is when the thin hymenal membrane has a band of extra tissue in the middle that causes two small vaginal openings instead of one. In fact, apparently hymens come in all sorts of shapes, like unique and beautiful snowflakes! (Too enthusiastic?) Check out these hymens. Numbers 4 and 5 are septate hymens. (Thank you to the following blog for this graphic. Click to read about the different kinds of hymens in more detail. Vagina Owner's Manual)

Apparently my septate hymen can be fixed with a quick outpatient surgical procedure, so that’ll be my next adventure when the lady doctors come back from their vacation. I must say, despite the trauma of this afternoon, I feel relieved to finally understand why I’ve never been able to insert tampons and to know that there’s a solution to my problem. And since I’ve always imagined penis insertion as an exponentially more painful experience than tampon insertion, I’m also relieved to discover that sex may not be quite as painful as I’ve anticipated. The future looks bright ahead! Although, it looks like I will be missing my swim lesson tonight after all. :(

This was a brutal semester for me. Possibly the most demanding and stressful one I've had yet. I'm thankful it's almost over for a number of reasons, including 1) I think I am on the brink of a psychotic episode, 2) I can soon start taking steps to overcome my semester-induced caffeine dependency, 3) I can reestablish a social life, and 4) I'll finally be able to revisit my hobbies, including photography and this blog.

I am supposed to be writing for work right now, but a combination of factors is currently making me feel really depressed. I thus decided to take a break and unload my feelings here. In sum, I'm sitting on my couch entirely alone right now and writing papers I don't want to write, while most everyone I know is currently enjoying time with their family and/or significant other for Thanksgiving. I'm still not over Mike (which feels pathetic), and both of the men I've been interested in for the past couple months and who I thought may have been interested in me are suddenly off the table. I learned a few days ago that one slept with two of my friends, and Facebook told me ten minutes ago that the other is now in a relationship. Very disappointing. I am also embarrassed by the fact that I am so terrible at reading men. The one who now has a girlfriend (let's call him Jason) started touching me, complimenting me, and going out of his way to talk to me, so I tried to reciprocate efforts by talking to him and inviting him to my birthday dinner. He didn't come, and now he apparently has a girlfriend. I am so confused... and frustrated, disappointed, embarrassed, and hopeless.

I also become more aggravated each year by my lack of sexual experience. Part of that is pure sexual frustration but the rest relates to my desire to connect with people and have meaningful conversations. I hate it when my friends talk about sex and I am unable to contribute anything. I feel like a child. And I hate that with each passing year, I become even more disparate from the men my age in terms of sexual/relationship experience.

I suppose I'm in a bad mood and perhaps my outlook will improve tomorrow, but at this moment, I feel very lonely and hopeless that it will ever change.

Judging from comments, my absence has apparently been noticed. I've been crazy busy this month with social activities, homework, and an existential life crisis. I think the latter is resolved for now, but my workload for the summer will remain intense. I'm hoping I'll be able to take a break for a few hours this weekend and write another post. I'm flattered that y'all continue to check back! Will be writing soon.

I stepped into Rick's and, towering above everyone in the waiting area, was Tyler. Holy. Crap. He is HUGE. And by huge, by no means do I mean fat. No. I mean at least 6'5" and an athletic build. I walked toward him, and he flashed me a huge smile as soon as we made eye contact.

"It's good to see you," he said as he gave me a hug.
"Good to see you too!"
"Right this way," announced the hostess before leading us to our booth.
Okay, everything is fine, no reason to be nervous. Just be yourself.

"You look very pretty," he said as I sat down.
Tee hee! He thinks I'm pretty! A smile came across my face so wide that my eyes squinted shut.
"Thank you! You look very nice too."
He smiled back at me.
"So, Tyler, how was your day?"

I clearly come up with very unique conversation topics. Despite my inexperience with traditional dating, we ended up covering all the traditional first-date topics during our conversation that evening: interests, hobbies, funny anecdotes from our past, future goals, etc. Something that particularly surprised me was that I was the one who did more of the talking, while he laughed at my goofy commentary. I feel like those roles are reversed in most of my day-to-day interactions, and I was somewhat impressed that my anxiety didn't prevent me from coming up with new material to discuss during the few awkward moments we seemed to run out of steam.

Tyler seemed to have a gentle disposition and a positive attitude, so although we weren't discovering any common interests, I still enjoyed his company and our evening together. My nerves eased as the evening progressed and I started to feel like I didn't have to work hard to impress him; I could just be myself. That was a good feeling. Friends in relationships have told me that they felt comfortable with their partner from the very beginning; they didn't feel like they had to put on a show. I do hope that's common because it was refreshing to feel entirely comfortable just being myself.

While conversation that evening flowed smoothly enough – or no less smooth than you would expect for two perfect strangers – the evening was not completely devoid of awkward moments. In fact, perhaps my most prominent memory of the evening was an exchange we had toward the end of our meal before parting ways.

Tyler: "I've really enjoyed this evening and I have liked spending time with you..."
"Thanks, I've had a great time too!"
"So what do you think about me? Are you interested in me?"
"Oh... um... honestly, this is our first date so I don't know you well enough yet to answer that. But I had a good time tonight, and I'd like to get to know you more."
"Okay... but are you interested?"

Now that I have a little more experience with dating, his question makes more sense to me. I think he just wanted to know if I felt at all excited about him or attracted to him and if I could possibly see myself dating him. However, being the novice dater that I was, I didn't understand any of this and interpreted his question as a much more serious proposition than he likely intended. To me, "Are you interested?" meant "Do you really really like me and want to keep dating me?" Additionally, although I had had crushes in the past, determining level of interest in the context of dating was something that I simply did not know how to do yet. I didn't know how to recognize if I was interested in someone or not because I had not yet had the experience of dating a guy I was genuinely interested in. That would be like deciding if I have a preference for apples when I've never tasted any other fruit. Anyway, given his miscommunication and my misinterpretation and naïveté, it's not surprising how awkward things quickly became.

Me: "I don't know... I don't know enough about you yet."
"But do you like me? Do you want to see me again?"
"Yeah." *Smiled and nodded head*
"So you're interested?"
"I'm interested in seeing you again and getting to know you, yes."
*Awkward silence*
Tyler: "I have sisters, and they talk about the men they date, and if they're not really interested they'll say things like [*mimics sister's voice and facial expressions*] 'Eh, he's nice... If he wants to take me to dinner, I'll go... but I don't think he's the guy for me.' So I know that a girl knows whether she's interested or not."

At this point, I'm shooting him confused facial expressions after every few words that exit his mouth.

Me: "But I really don't know... I don't know what else you want me to say. I like you so far and I'd like to get to know you."
Jesus, what does this guy want from me?
"So you really don't know?"
"No, this is our first date. I barely know you."
"Okay then, that's okay."

He changed the subject but when the waitress returned with our check, he apparently decided to make one last attempt at getting a different response from me before we called it an evening.

"So do you like me? Am I someone you could see yourself with?"
With a tone of confusion and mild frustration, I stated "I can't answer these questions."
"I just want to know if you're interested."
Oh. My. God. Please just stop talking.
"I'm interested in seeing you again. I don't know what else to tell you."
"You're giving me a look..."
"I am?"

I asked my friends about this later and apparently I do in fact have a distinctive facial expression when I'm astounded by someone's behavior. I guess it looks something like this. If you're giving or receiving that look on a date, it's probably not a good sign.

Anyway, at that point, he finally gave up prying a different answer out of me, and we exchanged goodbyes for the evening.
What just happened tonight? How was I supposed to respond to that?

Shortly after I arrived home, he texted me this:
"I had a really great time tonight. I'm feeling things that I haven't felt in a long time."

That's nice but really? After one hour together and some surface-level conversation?  You don't even know me... Honestly, after all of his questioning about my interest level and then that text message, he was turning me off. What started as a nice and fun dinner was ending as a thoroughly awkward interaction, and his eager attitude was making me think that he just wanted a girlfriend more than he wanted specifically me. I did have a nice time with him though overall and he struck me as a good person, so I still wanted to go out with him again. Maybe we would discover some common interests and have even more fun next time. Who knows? We had only been on one date. I texted him back.

"I had a great time too, and I'm looking forward to seeing you again."

I didn't want to lie about feelings I wasn't having, so I figured that was the best thing to say. I was a little confused about the whole evening but at the same time... I just had my first date!  That was an exciting reality and I immediately called my best friend back home in Seattle to tell her all about it.


I would see Tyler again and, this time, it would be awkward for entirely different reasons. I should be able to finish this story in my next post.

In other news... Mike added me on Snapchat a week ago which only confuses me because I can see from his stats that he's a very active user, yet he never sent me any snaps after adding me. I finally sent him one after a few days, and he didn't respond until a few days later when he sent me a Snapchat video of he and his friends playing beer pong at 3AM. Umm... okay... AND he just cluttered my Facebook newsfeed with some video of women shaking their breasts while wearing nothing but pasties. God. Seriously? Are you 14 years old? Please have a little class. Given my childish behavior of stressing over Snapchat though, perhaps I deserve this time warp back to high school. I'm going to stop typing now before I further embarrass myself, and then start a 401(k) plan so I can feel like an adult again. The awesome part about all this though is that he's thoroughly turning me off right now, which makes it way easier to let go.

Short post today. My friend saw the dietitian at the coffee shop again this morning and texted me immediately. I quickly did my makeup, put on a cute dress, grabbed my laptop, and made a beeline to the coffee shop.

(I wore this dress! Totes adorbs! That's Bernie Dexter, and I borrowed this image from her website.)

When I arrived, he wasn't sitting in a location where I could sit next to him so I worked with my friend for a couple hours and then approached him as I was leaving.

Me: "Hi there."
"Hi!"
Noticing all the books he had on the table and his open laptop, I said "Are you preparing another lecture for your class?"
"No, I'm actually putting together an exam for them."
"Oh, are you being nice and making an easy one? Or making them earn those grades?" Ugh, why did I say that?  Can't I come up with better questions to ask than that?
"Well, it's easy if they did their homework."
Elaborating on conversation from last time, I continued "It must be frustrating that you put so much work into your lectures and then your students don't try that hard."
"Well, a lot of them just want the credits; they don't want to learn."
"Maybe that's just the students in the summer semester. Have you taught a class here before?"

Conversation continued in this manner for a few more minutes, where I kept asking questions and commenting on what he was saying, while he didn't seem to make much effort to keep the conversation going or to ask me about my life. However, he soon started packing up his things so I thought: Okay, last chance. Maybe he's planning to get lunch now; you can invite him to join you!

Me: "Well, I'm going to get brunch now..."
Throwing his bag over his shoulder, he responded, "Enjoy yourself!" and walked toward an alternate exit at the opposite end of the coffee shop. He didn't even give me a chance to invite him.

He is so not interested in you.

If I see this guy again, I should probably just leave him alone. If he were at all interested, I think he would have behaved differently by putting more effort into conversation and maybe by even inviting me to lunch. I felt a little dejected after that, and when I got home I found myself surfing sites about being a perma-single. While most of those entries/pages/forums are very depressing, I stumbled upon one that made me feel a little better: Sometimes, It's Not You.

I guess I should get back to work now.

*Time warp back to 2012 after Jesse and Dean*

After a long day of classes, I drove home and pulled into my tiny driveway within a community of duplexes and small houses. As I opened my car door, I saw a cop car driving by with "SHERIFF" plastered all over it. I started walking toward my door when I noticed he was slowing down. *Moment of panic* Are my tags expired? Was I speeding? Did I run over a small animal? Can cops pull you over for running over a small animal?  He smiled at me as he rolled down his window. Calm down, something must have happened around here and he wants to question me.

I approached his vehicle anticipating questions regarding suspicious activity in the area.

"You're from Washington?"
"Oh... yeah, I'm guessing you gathered as much from my license plate." (Yes, I'm from Washington. I've decided to get over my paranoia of being identified and at least disclose my home state.)
"Yeah, I did. What part are you from?"
"Oh, all over the Western half of the state. I was last living in Seattle though."
"I love Seattle! I was stationed in Bremerton when I was in the Navy, and I just loved it up there. What brings you all the way down here?"
Is he flirting with me? He's asking awfully personal questions for someone who wants to inquire about a crime in the area.
"I moved here for grad sch-"

"45, a 10-15 on 685 Second Avenue," his radio interrupted. (I totally made up those numbers.) Tyler (we'll call him Tyler) pressed a button on his radio and responded although I couldn't quite hear what he was saying. He looked toward me again. "Grad school. That's great; what are you studying?"

It was suddenly obvious that he didn't stop me to question me. Or rather he did but not for the reason I expected. Tyler was African American, looked to be in his thirties, possessed a wide and gorgeous smile with perfect teeth, and had those eyes you encounter sometimes that just seem to embody kindness.

Conversation continued, within which I learned that he ranked captain and worked long weeks. He interspersed in our chat several references to the fact that we shared busy schedules.

"You're a grad student with a lot of homework, and I’ve got an unpredictable and busy schedule, so we'd understand that about each other, ya know?"
What do I say now? This is so weird… 
"Yeah, I guess we would."
"I try to tell women that I have to work, and they get mad. But you'd get it."
What is happening here? Is this normal? Are cops allowed to pick up women like this?
"Yeeaahhh…" Oh my God, I'm being so awkward right now.
"Listen, I need to go, but it's been really nice chatting with you. Can I get your number?"
Am I allowed to say no to a cop? Do I even want to say no? This is so weird and unexpected, I don't even know what I want.
"Sure."

He grabbed his cellphone and entered my number as I stated it.

"I'll call you soon. Nice meeting you."
"Nice meeting you too," I said as he started to drive away.

Did that just happen? Actually, WHAT just happened? Was he following me? Or did he just see me get out of my car and think I was cute? Although the whole scenario seemed a little strange to me and I wasn't sure if I was even interested in him, I really liked the fact that a guy thought I was attractive enough to approach and request my number. It was flattering and that kind of attention was quite a rare experience for me. And a police captain? Not too shabby!

The next day, I told my new grad school friends about the experience, and they all had a similar reaction that went something like this:

"Oh, that's fun! But wait, he pulled up to your front door and asked for your number? That's a little forward..."
"Yeeaahhh... I guess it is."

Regardless, I was still excited about the fact that a man noticed me and would possibly ask me out. After all, although I had spent a lot of time with Jesse, we never defined what we were doing and I still had never in my life gone on an official date.

While doing homework that afternoon, I received the phone call I had been anticipating.

"Hi, it's Tyler."
"Hi, Tyler! How was your day?"
"Pretty good... I'm calling to see if you want to get together tonight."
Oh my gosh, it's happening! My very first official, full-blown, bona fide date!
"Sure! What do you have in mind?"
"What do you like to do?"
"Umm... eat?"
"Would you like to come over? I can cook dinner."
Go to your house? Where I'll be completely alone with you? On our first date?
"That's nice, but I'd rather go out... "
"Ummm... there are some restaurants I'd rather avoid, like Applebee's and Chili's, because some of the people who hang out there are folks that I've arrested."
HA HA! Awesome. Dating cops is fun.
*Laugh* "Okay, we won't go there then. What about downtown? Is there a restaurant there you'd be more comfortable with?"
"Maybe, where do you want to go?"
Why do I have to make all the decisions here? You're asking me on a date, so can you at least suggest a place?
"Umm... how about Rick's?"
"I haven't been there in a while. That sounds nice. What time would you like?"
Ugh, I don't want to make all the decisions.
"Seven?"
"That sounds good. Would you like me to pick you up?"
"Thanks, but you don't have to do that. I'll meet you there."
"Okay, I'll see you at Rick's at seven."

My response to the offer of being picked up for a date now varies by situation. It's a nice gesture and I appreciate the gentlemanly approach. In this case though, I had only spoken to him once and barely knew him at all, so I felt safer driving myself to dinner. Granted, it seems unlikely that a police officer – a police CAPTAIN nonetheless – leads a double life as a rapist and serial killer so I'm probably a little overly cautious.

I have a DATE!  It felt dreamlike. I had certainly witnessed this scenario of male-liking-female-and-asking-her-to-dinner enough times in books and films but it had never happened to me. Someone thinks I'M attractive and wants to go out with ME. It was a wonderful feeling... that was soon replaced with sudden panic. Oh my God, I have a date. What do I do? How do I act? What do I WEAR?!  I suddenly felt overwhelmed. Although I had gained a little experience with Jesse, dating was still a foreign concept to me and I felt entirely clueless. Okay, you need to chill out. He already likes the natural you or he wouldn't have asked you out. Just be yourself. But what are we going to talk about? I don't know anything about him. What if I have nothing interesting to say or ask? Okay, seriously, you need to stop. You freaked out about Jesse too and obviously you had no problems with conversation there. Are you incapable of making conversation with strangers? Do you just awkwardly stare at them and drool? Of course not. This isn't going to be any different.

I experienced similar panic and forcible calm-down regarding appropriate date attire and eventually consulted Google for a second opinion.

"Don't show too much cleavage, he'll think you're a tart."
"Show a little cleavage to appear sexy and confident."
"Don't wear a skirt that's too short, all he'll see is sex."
"Wear a skirt or dress to appear feminine and sexy."

Seriously? What am I supposed to do with that? I can't win here. As I had done moments earlier, I gave myself another reality check. Just... be yourself. What do you WANT to wear?  It was cold outside, and I had just purchased a new wool cardigan from Anthropologie that was super cute and accentuated my figure. I wanted to wear that. Skinny jeans were also a new addition to my wardrobe, and I felt confident in them. I wanted to wear those. So I did.

I spent the next hour carefully applying my makeup and restyling my curly locks. 6:40. It was time. Take a deep breath. Everything is going to be fine. It's supposed to be fun!  Feeling concurrently excited and nervous, I got in the car and drove downtown for my very first date.


I'll tell you how that went in my next post. :)

My friend had a going-away dinner on Friday night at a restaurant that was only footsteps away from Mike's bar. It seemed a waste to go straight home after dinner considering I was already wearing a hot dress and had given extra attention to my hair and makeup than usual. Okay, I admit that's a lame excuse. I just have zero self control and couldn't resist stopping by to see Mike. 

"Hey, beautiful. How have you been doin', darlin'?"
*Flash him the biggest, cutest smile I possibly can*
"I've been great, Mike."
"I yelled at you the other day."
"You yelled at me?"
"I saw you walkin' by out there." *Gestured toward window* "I said, 'Nice dress!'"
"Oh, I didn't hear you. I would have stopped and said hi."
"I figured ya didn't because you just kept walkin'." 
"Well, what have you been up to?"
"Great, just workin' and savin' up money for my internship in Austria."
DON'T LEAVE ME!
"Austria?! How exciting!"

I'm very happy for him and I knew he was bound to leave soon since he recently finished his MBA, but I'll still miss him when he leaves. I suppose it's best for both of us though. It's obviously an important career move for him, and it also means that I'll finally be able to move on to other guys. 

Anyway, we talked for a while the other night, and Mike paid me the special attention that I apparently crave, which included lingering around me and conversing whenever he wasn't taking drink orders, looking at me with cheek-to-cheek grins and adoring eyes (or just lustful eyes – can't really tell), and offering me discounted drinks. I also had fun with the following conversation:

Mike: "So my phone finally bit the dust the other day. I need you to text me your number."
Me:"Oh really? Hmm... don't have my number..."
*Mike grins*
Me: "That means no more 'titty' comments..."
Mike: "No, that's true..." 
Me: "I might like this. What other advantages are there?"
Mike: "Well, you don't have to give it to me if you don't want to. [pause] I think you want me to have it though."

He had to walk off to take a drink order at that point, which is when something happened that I feared was about to become extremely awkward. While Mike was off making drinks, I felt two hands grab my waist. I turned to look behind me and saw Kyle – a man I briefly dated over a year ago. Shit. Where is this conversation going to go and is Mike going to overhear it?  This was the first guy who rejected me for refusing to have sex with him immediately, and that's a story I will definitely tell later. He was a little drunk on Friday, but he expressed great joy in seeing me. He hugged me several times during conversation and talked to me for quite a while. I kept glancing over to see if Mike was paying attention and, luckily, the bar was getting crowded so he was distracted. Kyle proceeded to say many nice things to me.

"I think of you every time I drive by the cemetery and I want to text you." (I realize how creepy that sounds, but he's referring to our first date – which was at the cemetery. Actually, that probably sounds creepy too. I apparently have strange ideas for dates.)
"Thanks, Kyle. That's nice."

"I miss shooting [photographs] with you."
"Thanks, Kyle. That's nice."

"We should have a Canon vs. Nikon side-to-side comparison day."
"Maybe."

I have absolutely zero interest in this man at this point, but I admit that there is something very satisfying about the fact that he originally rejected me for an entirely selfish reason and is now expressing interest again while I'm completely over him. And this isn't the first time he has suggested spending time together again; I've received a number of texts over the past year. Ha. Ha. Ha. I win.

Kyle eventually asked me what I was drinking, to which I sincerely responded, "I don't know, whatever Mike made me."
"Hey, Mike! What is she drinking?"
Oh, God, they're speaking to each other.
"Jailbait."
Mike to me: "Watch out, he steals girls' drinks."
He doesn't seem aware that I know this guy. Thank God, they haven't compared notes.
"That was one time!"
"It happened like four times! I'm trying to get her drunk, not you, stop it!"

Mike wandered off again as the bar was becoming more crowded, and Kyle soon said goodbye and left. Wow. Dodged a bullet. Being present while two guys discovered they had both dated me could very well have been the most awkward moment of my life.

There were too many people in the bar at this point for Mike and I to chat at all, so I left as soon as I finished my drink.
"It was good to see you, Mike."
"Good to see you too. And text me."
Of course I did in fact text him after I arrived home. I pretended to be God at first; I'm not sure if he found that amusing or not...
________________________________________________

Second bit of news: A guy that I had one date with in January texted me last week to inform me that he was coming to town this weekend and wanted to see me while he was here. Seriously? We had one date, you didn't ask me on another one (which I was actually relieved about since he failed to pique my interest), and now you suddenly want to see me again five months later?

I want to talk about that date in January but that's a post for another day. I'll have to first tell the entire story about Mike in order for my commentary on that date to make any sense.

I didn't want to commit to anything so I told him that I didn't know my schedule for the weekend and to text me when the time came. He did – immediately after my visit with Mike in fact.

"What are you up to tonight? I'm about to listen to my cousin play live at Rick's Restaurant." (We'll call it Rick's.)
I truthfully responded, "I actually just got home and am going to bed. Thanks for the invitation though!"
"I'll be out on the lake tomorrow afternoon and evening but I'd really like to see you at some point."
"Maybe Sunday then?"
"I'll be with my dad for Father's Day. Maybe if it's later on that night..."

I didn't respond. I don't know why this guy wants to see me anyway and now I'm supposed to accommodate his busy schedule? No thanks. It's possible I could hear from him again tonight, but I already made plans. Considering he originally tried to schedule something with me and I wouldn't let him, I suppose I'm not being very nice right now. But I'm really not that interested in seeing him.
_________________________________________________

THIRD bit of news: I bumped into Mr. Hottie at the coffee shop again this morning. Let's call him Luke. I met him a few months ago in the same place, and we had a really fun and lengthy conversation with many laughs from both of us. He's a dietitian, has a master's degree, and works for the university. I was disappointed when he didn't ask me for my number, so – in true stalker style – I took advantage of the staff directory page to find his full name and the location of his office. However, I have been unsuccessful in coming up with a non-creepy excuse for hanging around that hallway, so I've never made it over there. Surely you can imagine my delight this morning then when I saw him at the coffee shop! We talked some more but alas, no request for my number. I've never had success asking men out, but I'm going to try it the next time I see this guy. The worst that could happen is that I'll get shot down and then feel slightly awkward three months later when I finally see him again. That's a pretty small risk, and I think I'm going to take it.

That's all for now. Also, I've written a good chunk of my policeman story. I'll soon either post what I have or finish it and post the whole thing at once.

After discussing this situation with friends (and a reader!) last night, I made my decision and took action. First, I responded to Chris.

"Hey, Chris. I've given this a lot of thought and I've decided I'm just not comfortable with it. I don't like hiding things from Mike, and even if you're not living together, you're still friends – and I'm just not comfortable getting involved with good friends of guys I've already been involved with."

I decided I'd rather just leave it at that than elaborate on all the characteristics that I disliked about him. This way I was still being honest but not unnecessarily hurtful. An entirely truthful answer would have included the last couple paragraphs of my last post.

After only one minute, he responded.

"That's fine. I was drunk last night or I would never have brought it up. I know you having seen Mike would make it too awkward no matter the situation. All I ask is please don't mention this to him."

That's the second time he has told me not to tell Mike about this. Maybe I should? The fact that he's so afraid of that outcome tells me that he believes he did something very wrong and that he's planning to hide this from Mike possibly indefinitely.

While I was still contemplating my response, he sent me another message:

"You can at least do that for me, right? He doesn't need to know about this."

"At least do that for you?" As if I owe you something? I owe you nothing, and now I'm mad that you're putting me in a very uncomfortable situation where I have to make a decision regarding the morally right thing to do. And "doesn't need to know?" I personally would be very upset if one of my close friends deliberately went behind my back and came on to Mike or to any guy that I was still harboring feelings for. I definitely would want to know about it.

With these thoughts in mind, I responded with the following:

"This is a very awkward situation for me now... I don't like secrets but I also don't like contributing to bad situations for other people. I don't really know what to do. Although, he's ultimately the one who rejected me, so he might not even care."

Chris: "You must be joking. You have no reason to tell him. You yourself last night said that you haven't talked to him in ages. [Actually, I said I haven't talked to him much lately.] It's not a secret, he has no business knowing. The only thing you telling him will do is damage his and mine friendship."

I stopped responding at this point. Now I was mad. Not only was he trying to guilt me into keeping my mouth shut but he was trying to make me the bad guy in this situation. I wasn't the one who stabbed my roommate in the back and went after a girl he has had an on-and-off thing with for nearly the past year.

While going about my evening, I thought about this for a few hours and I asked a few friends what they thought the morally right thing to do was. One friend said he didn't think I was under any moral obligation to tell Mike what had happened since we weren't currently involved, another said either telling him or not telling him was the right thing depending on how I looked at it, and another said that I should definitely tell him because it was the morally right thing to do AND because I would look really bad later if Mike learned of this situation on his own and knew that I never told him.

Honestly, the last response is the one that I agreed with all along and I was just waiting for someone to confirm it. I decided to tell Mike.

It was nearly 1:00AM at this point but since Mike is a bartender, I knew he'd still be working and thus awake. I also knew his shift would be ending within minutes and that I needed to get this off my chest as soon as possible, so I decided the present moment was the best time to tell him. I texted.

"Hey, Mike, I'm in an awkward situation and I think telling you what happened is the right thing to do. Chris asked me to join him for a drink last night and I was already out and he has always been friendly to me, so I agreed and didn't think much of it. However, he eventually told me that he was interested in me and wanted to start seeing me – and he emphasized that he didn't want me to inform you of this conversation. This whole situation is very uncomfortable for me, and I don't like hiding things from people, so I'm telling you now. Also, for the record, I said no."

Less than an hour later, Chris messaged me, "Did you say something to him?" I'm guessing that means Mike came home and picked a fight. Thirty minutes later, Mike texted me back.

"Hey [my name]. I appreciate how fantastic of a person you are, darlin'. You truly have a moral compass of pure gold. I have no claim to you, even though I still have feelings for you. You are able to do anything you want to with whomever you want too. This just shows that Chris is obviously not my friend. He is a shady guy, and my only objection here is that he would never deserve you even if he lived a thousand lifetimes. Thank you for being so honest. I truly appreciate it."

"No problem, Mike. And thanks."

I discovered this morning that Chris blocked me on Facebook, but I'm almost glad he did because I don't need people like that in my life. I'm confident that I made the right decision here, even if their living situation is a little awkward right now. Mike needed to know.

Okay, I accidentally lied again. I promise I'll tell my policeman story extremely soon! For now, I have to make an emergency detour.

I went out last night for my friend's birthday dinner and while I was there, Chris (we'll call him Chris) started messaging me via the Facebook Messenger app and invited me out for a drink after the birthday event.

Chris is the roommate of the guy I've been stuck on for nearly the past year — Mike. While Mike and I only officially dated for a couple weeks last August (and by "officially dated," I mean we regularly spent time together and exclusively saw each other with the intention of pursuing a relationship), we've had this off-and-on series of flirtations, physical intimacy, and pseudo-dates ever since then. Last December, while Mike and I were on again, Chris, Mike, and another friend of theirs were planning to see the Suicide Girls and already held tickets which they had purchased a while back. However, when the evening of the show finally arrived, Mike's ungodly amount of homework forbade him to leave the house for more than thirty seconds, so he offered his ticket to me. 

Naturally I responded with, "HELL YEAH!!!" or something to that effect. Upon receiving this offer about fifteen minutes before Chris and his friend were planning to leave, I leaped into my car and then cursed at every red light and sped between them all the way to Chris and Mike's house. I jumped out the door and saw Mike.

"Did I make it in time?!"
"Just barely. Y'all need to leave right now."

Chris and his friend walked up right behind him and made a beeline for Chris' car. They were very nicely dressed... Chris was wearing a button-down shirt and suit jacket and completed the look with a fedora. His friend (female) was wearing essentially the same thing, but chose a fitted cardigan rather than a suit jacket. As I looked down at my Wonder Woman t-shirt and the dozen holes in my jeans, I spoke my thoughts to Mike.

"I suddenly feel very underdressed. Is this appropriate attire for this event?"
"You look beautiful, darlin'."

Mike grabbed my waist and kissed me for a few seconds before Chris announced, "We need to go."

"Bye, Mike."
"Have fun, beautiful."

I then got in the vehicle with Mike's roommate whom I barely knew at all and his friend whom I had never met before for a ninety minute drive to a burlesque show. I see no way this could possibly go wrong. For a spontaneous evening with two perfect strangers, it actually went really well and we all had a great time. We chatted and laughed the whole drive there and back and exchanged our ongoing commentary during the show.

Chris seemed like a nice guy and while a little on the quiet/introverted side, he was still talkative and revealed a good sense of humor. He was a third year law student and worked at a restaurant in town. I never really noticed him though — in terms of potential romance — because I was involved and infatuated with Mike at the time. In fact, even during the Suicide Girls performance, Mike and I were texting. And when we arrived back to Mike and Chris' place and I was about to head home, Mike and I went outside and made out for about twenty minutes. Like I said, I was far too distracted to even notice Chris.

However, I enjoyed Chris' company that evening and got to know him a little so I sent him a friend request on Facebook — emphasis on the word friend. I was surprised when Chris started messaging me on Facebook occasionally after that, even after Mike and I had called things off again. At first, I didn't think much of it; after all, I was the one who added him so it seemed perfectly appropriate and friendly to say hi a few times. It wasn't just a few times though. I was soon regularly receiving messages from Chris. Is he interested in me? I've had this ongoing thing with his roommate though... dating him would just be so awkward. It didn't take long before he suggested we "catch up sometime." Perhaps this was presumptuous of me but I interpreted this as him asking me out.

"Like a date? Mike's your friend so that would just be too weird for me, honestly."
"Ha meant as a friend. Am actually sorta seeing someone right now anyway, nothing official though."
Okay, maybe I jumped to conclusions then. And I'm slightly embarrassed now. If he really just wants to be friends, that's fine.
"Oh, okay. Yeah, we can hang out sometime."
"I'd never go after a woman Mike's been with or interested in."
Okay, sounds legit. Gosh, I shouldn't assume things like that.

Occasional messaging continued (always initiated by him), but I didn't think much of it after that conversation. However, my suspicions returned in February when he was contemplating buying a high-end camera similar to my own. While he started the conversation with questions about my camera and my opinions on Canon vs. Nikon, he soon said this:

"You should come by sometime and let me play with your camera, nothing like seeing the real thing to help make a decision. lol"
Hmm... Maybe he IS interested? He said he wanted to be friends though, and maybe he really does just want to experiment with my camera. You remember how hard it was to pick your camera when you were in the market for one.
"Yeah, you can play with it. My favorite feature is its low-light performance. Just incredible."

He promptly followed up by suggesting a place and time to meet up, and I agreed under the condition that I could only stick around for maybe thirty minutes because I had so much work to do (which was absolutely true). A few days later, on the drive to the coffee shop where we were meeting, I felt uneasy about it. The only time I've ever hung out with this guy was at that burlesque show; we really don't know each other. Is this normal? To hang out with exes' friends or friends' ex-flames? And if this is sincerely about the camera, doesn't he have other friends who are interested in photography and who have fancy cameras? Just stop it; even if he is in fact interested in you, who cares? The worst that could happen is an awkward "Hey, I like you" comment. It'll be fine.

I walked through the door and didn't see him, so I headed over to the coffee line for my drink. I looked over and there he was — walking through the door and heading my direction.

"Hey, Chris, good to see you."
*Smile* "You too."
"Here's my camera!"

Conversation was pretty effortless and we had fun walking around town taking photos. He also took a fantastic photo of me buying Girl Scout Cookies, capturing my euphoria tearing open my Samoas and Tagalongs. True to his word, he behaved genuinely interested in the camera and never suggested any romantic interest in me. After about an hour had passed, I insisted on getting back to work and we parted ways. Seriously? All that worrying and look what happened. He really did just want to play with your camera. You need to quit worrying about silly things like this. He's obviously not interested in you, so there's nothing awkward about this situation.

Occasional messaging continued as before (as did several more flirtatious and/or intimate encounters with Mike — but that's a story for another day).

Now on to the present day. Last night, Chris invited me to "catch up" at a bar that I frequent anyway. I said sure; and after my friend's birthday event ended, I headed downtown and met him at the bar. While everything was pleasant at first, he soon started talking to the girls sitting beside us at the bar and accepted their invitation when they suggested we join them on the balcony. I felt okay with that but when he started expressing interest in the brunette, I honestly felt a little uncomfortable. Why did you invite me to join you if you just wanted to pick up girls? Couldn't you have done that without me? I'm not one of your guy friends. The four of us chatted a while, and we quickly learned that the brunette was bisexual and had just broken up with her girlfriend. The two girls left to use the restroom at one point, and I took the opportunity to laugh at Chris and say,

"So, this is hilarious. We were just talking about how you make bad dating decisions and it turns out the one you're interested in is gay."
"No, she's bisexual."
"Regardless, she just broke up with her girlfriend. I don't see anything positive coming from this."
"Actually, I've had a lot more things happen with bisexual girls than straight girls."
"Okay then. You do what you've gotta do."

The girls came back, had another drink with us, and then decided they wanted to move on to another bar — a very undergraddy party bar that I prefer to avoid. As they walked away, Chris told me he wanted to go with them and invited me to join.

"No thanks, that's not really my kind of place."
"Well, I'm going. I want that number."
"Okay, good luck."
"Good catching up with you though. We shouldn't wait another six months to do it again."
"Yeah, good seeing you too."
"Bye."

I went back inside and sat at the bar for a few minutes before closing my tab and going home. About twenty minutes later, Chris messaged me on Facebook.

C: "It went badly but not for the reason you would expect. Also, for what it's worth, sorry I bailed on you after inviting you out."
Me: "She bumped into a girl she liked?"
C: "No. She was actually talking to me. Her drunk friend told me to stop looking at her friend and suggested I leave."
Me: "Hahahaha yeah... I guess that comes with the territory when you hit on drunk girls."
C: "She wasn't that drunk. Her friend was shit faced. Eh lesson learned I shouldn't have bailed on you, but I knew you weren't interested in me, and well ya gotta go where there might be a chance of meeting someone. Meeting people in this town sucks."
Wait what? Is he implying that he WANTS me to be interested in him? Umm... I'm just going to ignore that comment.
Me: "Damn straight. Scorn me and the fates will scorn you. Mwa ha ha ha ha."
C: "Can you blame me for wanting to meet someone? lol This town sucks."
Me: "Yes, I blame you."
C: "Sarcasm?"
Me: "I'm fucking with you. It's late; I really didn't care. But yeah, I get it, I'd like to meet someone too. I've learned bars really aren't the best way to do that though."
C: "Shame you never gave me the time of day because I was Mike's roommate."
Fuck. Seriously?
Me: "You guys live together... that would be all kinds of awkward."
C: "And when he moves out..."
Me: "I don't know."
C: "Easy question really. Is Mike the only thing stopping you from getting to know me or are you just not interested?"
Me: "Honestly, I never even entertained the idea because you two live together. And I didn't know you were interested. So this is new and I really don't know what to think right now."
C: "Well whatever you think, please don't bring it up to him. Last thing I need is the last month he lives here to be awkward. But yeah, I've been interested for a while."
I KNEW it...
Me: "I'm not going to say anything to him. I don't really talk to him anyway. But thanks. That's nice."
C: "Think about it and let me know. I don't want to make things awkward, but if it's his living here then I want to get to know you once he's gone. Sorry to throw this on you like this."

And here I am... trying to figure out what to do and how to handle this. My intuition is telling me, "HELL NO. Stay away," but at the same time I'm trying to keep an open mind and not write off someone who I may in fact be compatible with. I spoke with a friend about this situation today, and he confirmed a lot of my reservations while also pointing out some things I hadn't considered. Together, we reached the following conclusions:

Inviting me out and then ditching me to chase some other girl is a douche move, whether he's interested in me or not. You don't treat friends that way, nor do you treat romantic interests that way. Second, comments such as "I've had a lot more things happen with bisexual girls than straight girls" and "I want that number" are entirely inappropriate. Don't tell me about your sex life, and don't blatantly pursue another girl when you're supposedly interested in me. Third, don't suggest secretly dating and hiding it from Mike. That makes you a shitty friend and a shady potential boyfriend. Fourth, you should have paid for my drink. Fifth, what's with the accusatory and demanding attitude? I haven't done anything wrong here, and I'm not some whore you can pass around among friends. I never entertained the thought of dating you because I was with Mike AND because you're his roommate and his friend.

The gentlemanly thing to do here would have been to stay with me when I said I didn't want to go to the second bar, refrain from sexual comments and from hitting on other women, inform me AND Mike of his interest in me, pay for my drink, and ask me on a date. If he had done all these things, I would have much more seriously considered giving him a chance, despite the awkwardness with Mike. Given what actually happened though, I'm really leaning toward a response of no and am already contemplating exactly what to say when I reject him. However, my friend suggested I give him a chance and go on a couple dates with him. Then I'll get to know him better, have a couple fun evenings, and can decide at that point what I want to do. I haven't decided how I'm going to handle this yet; I don't know what to do. I guess I'll keep thinking about it for another day or two.