Charming, but single

A journal in dates and drinks


Dealbreaker

When I am ambiguous about how I feel about someone it seems like I look for an “answer” to the dilemma or a moment to clarify things or something — anything — to push me over the edge either way. Friday night with the Relief Worker, on our fifth date, that moment came. We were talking before a movie and he was complaining about the city where I live. He is from a small town, living here temporarily to help in the aftermath of the storms and he hates this place. I know it isn’t his style (it is too big), and I don’t expect him to pretend it’s his favorite place in the world. At the same time, I do expect someone who has been taking me out to not badmouth my home (and hometown) all evening. (I may complain about this place, but it is my home. It may be hypocritical, but I don’t want someone who isn’t from here badmouthing it so much.) We hadn’t even kissed! It was a bit early to be so negative about anything, let alone the place where I live. He was grumbling about traffic and it being crowded and everyone being in a bad mood. He said people here weren’t nice. I protested, saying that traffic was obviously worse since we’ve taken in so many evacuees. There are just more people and longer commutes and longer lines and it being post-Katrina makes the city bit different, I argued gently. And then, as my mom would put it, the bloom fell off of the rose. “I am so tired of hearing about Katrina!” He exclaimed with a lot of emotion. “All of these Katrina people just want to bilk to government out of as much money as they can and do nothing for the rest of their lives.” He was very serious and very angry.* I protested, less gently this time. I pointed out that he was making a broad generalization about a lot of people that may apply to some, but not to all. He relented a little bit, but I could tell it was mostly to appease me. At that moment, he should have just taken me home, because I was so completely over it all. Collectively, members of my family lost four homes in the storm. Friends lost their jobs, had their possessions whittled down to a number of boxes you could count on one hand. (And I consider everyone I know from the area to be very fortunate and very lucky.) I’m not sure what the Relief Worker was thinking, but he apparently wasn’t thinking about how I’d feel about continual bashing of my hometown, my state, my community, my family and my friends. From that point on, everything he said just annoyed me. Little things that I might have ignored just made my blood boil, and as we passed this poster for “Brokeback Mountain” and he declared it “ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTING,” I just wanted to give him $7.50 for my movie ticket and call a friend for a ride home. I was tired of bending over backward to respect his opinions and beliefs when he had such little disregard for my own. He took me back to my car after the movie and sort of followed me to the door, but I turned, smiled and said goodnight. So no kiss. But it’s really ok. Maybe I misinterpreted his advances, but flirting and paying to take me out made it seemed like he was interested. I guess it’s just too bad that I’m not anymore. *I don’t want to get into an argument about the government’s role in providing social services. In every situation, there are people who take advantage of government help. However, to say or insinuate that the vast majority of people want to live in a FEMA trailer and exist off of emergency food stamps and less than $200 a week in unemployment is a bit of a stretch. But I’ll get off of my soapbox now.



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Charming, but single is 25 26 27(!), lives in the Southern part of the U.S.A. and likes both her drinks and her boys tall. E-mail (listed below) her and she may respond. You can also IM her in AIM/AOL. (If she ever remembers to sign on.)
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Former taglines of this blog: "A Journal in Dates and Drinks" and "A Dateless Journal of Drinking."




Those Particulars
Some Backstory
Memories of the Way We Were
Updates and Towel Snapping
One Year Wrap-Up
Just As She Is
An Open Letter to Myself
After 26 years, she HAS learned something
An Open Letter to the Men Who Message Me Through Match
Sharing a smoke



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