Celebration > Acceptance > Tolerance in Whey and Sonic Screwdrivers.

So, I had a date on Saturday. Well, I not a date date, but I don’t know what else to call it.

Messaged (back and forth) on tinder on Wednesday, phone call on Friday, met in person on Saturday.

She picked me up, we went to her place, hung out. She was waiting on a friend for a thing, but that didn’t happen. We picked up cheap food, ate. Came back to my place. Hung out a bit. She left. Maybe four good hours of socialization.

I consider it meeting and seeing if you vibe. If that’s a date, okay, have your fancy terminology.

Today’s Tuesday, and I got the I’m sorry, we won’t be going forward with your application text. Ha ha. It makes me annotate that I’m worth a text like that, rather than the trope of ghosting.

But also.

The vibe wasn’t there.

She specified some small things that are core things about her, that she wants someone to like more. I say small things, as she checked my boxes of geek, liberal, and sense of humour. For those of us Team Punch A Nazi, she’d definitely punch a nazi.

I’m unabashedly me, and it’s nice that I can just be me and she’s all you have Star Trek tattoos, there’s no way you’re a serial killer.

…I mean GUYS, I’M LITERALLY A SERIAL KILLER, but it’s nice to not be thought of as a threat. Cuz.

I mean, I don’t know how paranoid women are. But with the way I don’t hide anything, it’s easy to feel “yup, this dude’s for real, and not going to murderrape me.”

But that wasn’t my point.

Gosh, I’ve been meaning to sit down to write since I bombed NaNoWriMo, but I haven’t been able to concentrate. And here I am UNABLE TO CONCENTRATE.

Vibe.

I was doing a preface so I could articulate vibe.

What was it that I liked about all my ex’s? What made me love them? What caused that vibe?

I don’t have an answer.

But also. When it comes to that question I’ve been able to sidestep. The So, why do you love me? If I’ve been told explicitly why I’m worthy of love, my depression doesn’t let me remember. I’ve learned to just take people at their word.

If a woman says I love you, you don’t split hairs over why. You just take her at her word.

So.

It probably goes the other way, too. I don’t really know why I’m worthy of love or what makes me loveable. But it’s in there. I have the emperical evidence.

This gets extra muddy as I have had A Case of The Feels for women that, logically, I shouldn’t. And, and. At least once, I’ve met women that totally check all the boxes.

And…

And…

No feels.

It doesn’t make any goddamned dollars.

So, I met someone new. I shared my Who Is Timmy, as best I could. And the vibe wasn’t there.

And now…

Nothing to it, but to do it. Put myself out there again. And again. And again. The story will get refined each time, right? I certainly have stopped the list of THIS IS EVERY EX I HAVE HAD, and just focus on Gee, wtf Happened With The Exwife.

Just face it: everybody needs to talk about their most recent ex in some facet. The grief doesn’t go away until you’re with the next person.

I don’t think there’s much else to say without repeating myself. I gotta continue to be the most Timmy I can be. Only a matter of time before I meet someone and they think to themselves Gee golly, he’s a neat-o dude. I’d like to sit on his face.

Oh, and while I sure hope I don’t write too many rants in the next few years.

I hope all the nazis get shot.