Patterns are Hard to Break

Over the last two years, my life has become unrecognizable to that of the person who used to write this blog, at least on the surface.  I moved to Charlotte, leaving a city that I used to think was the real love of my life behind me.  After moving here for a nightmare of a job, I was recruited into a job I genuinely love with coworkers who have become amazing friends.  Oh, and I bought a house.  I’m a homeowner, and that is a dream that never would have come true in DC.  

But, with all these amazing changes, I am still over here wasting time on boys who don’t deserve me.  I still tend to backslide with boys I should leave in the rearview mirror.  I’m still struggling with my ever-curvier body image because it’s hard to shake comments like Teddy’s that, even after all this time, are always in the back of my mind.  No matter how many times I remind myself I’m a badass, home-owning, curvy queen, I still have a hard time standing up for myself with people I care about when I feel wronged.  Instead of standing up, I still shut down.  Instead of moving forward, I still hold on.  It’s like I have a hard time believing I deserve all the success and great things in my life.     

Maybe that is why I let my hot neighbor into my life. Why do I have feelings for someone I know is broken and not really pursuing me?  Even though Hot Neighbor looks at me in a way that makes everyone think we are a couple, we aren’t.  I need to trust what he said - I don’t want to date him, he will destroy me.  Even if his actions don’t match, I need to listen to the words coming out of his mouth.  I have been taught that lesson so many times, when someone tells you who they are, you need to believe them.  

How did I get into this situation?  I should have never slept with my next door neighbor, but I let the spark I felt overcome my better judgement.  I’m turning 33 in 16 days and need to stop following the wild sparks that have led me into some of the darkest times in my life. 

When I ran into him on the sidewalk a week after moving in, I felt a tightness in my chest, that butterflies meet-cute moment.  I could feel my cheeks hurting from the insane smile I had the whole time we talked.  He asked for my number and texted me so I would have his.  I fought the “crazy girl” urge to google him immediately.  He is my neighbor, liking him is a terrible idea, the absolutely worst idea, and that is why I didn’t text him for a few weeks.  I was having a few friends over for a house warming so inviting Hot Neighbor couldn’t hurt anything; it was just neighborly.  

When he replied that he was going to ask me over for a drink that night anyway I felt giddy, ecstatic.  No harm in friendly drinks.  I rushed to finish cleaning up my house for the upcoming party so I could see the tall, mysterious boy next door.  I didn’t realize we would sit on my couch from 9:30pm until after 2:00am just talking.  I also didn’t realize I would come to  wish I could take back those 4 ½ hours.  If those hours of talking about everything hadn’t happened, maybe I wouldn’t be trying to shake off the feelings I have for him.  

As I curled my hair and put on my perfectly curated outfit for my party, I thought about him, what would Hot Neighbor think of my yellow dress, or seeing me all done up.  I was so happy to have my friends in my new home, to see their faces after months of quarantine, but until I answered the door and saw him on the other side, I was anxious.  But he came and he cleaned up nicely.  I tried not to focus all my attention on him, to make sure I was spending time with all the amazing people in my life who showed up. Every time I looked over at him and he smiled, those stupid butterflies fluttered in my chest.  When he left to pop by another party in the neighborhood, I felt a little deflated, even though he promised he was coming back.  I knew I was in big trouble, that Hot Neighbor was trouble, that I had caught some feelings.  

When other neighbors who I had over suggested we go to the neighborhood party, drunk me was all about it.  We walked into the alleyway party and I saw Hot Neighbor walking away from the party with another girl - I felt like I had been punched in the chest.  He said he was making sure she got home ok, but I saw how pretty she was, how thin and cute.  He was barely out of sight when my eyes welled with tears.  I was mad at myself for crying; I barely knew him and I had no reason to be upset.  So what if we had talked about more things in the first night hanging out then I had with the last guy I “dated” for two months?

I continued to down the rosé, hoping the wine would numb the feeling.  Instead I found myself alone in my kitchen, putting away leftovers and texting him to come hang out.  I went 100% drunk girl on him.  He was texting back, but he didn’t come over, or answer the door when I rang his doorbell.  I woke up the next day filled with shame and regret, mortified at my behavior.  I would love to blame the pandemic and being cooped up for months, but we all know I have been that girl when there wasn’t a global health crisis to blame.  I sent a GIF of someone hiding in a box labeled shame, and another that said “we’re still friends right?”.  

Hot Neighbor: “Haha yes I was planning on coming over today what time works for you.”

When I didn’t respond right away he came back with …

“Don’t make me come ring your doorbell ;)” 

A sense of relief washed over me.  I hadn’t ruined our friendship with my drunk antics.  He was going to come over and hangout.  I nursed my hangover and cleaned up more from the party, anxiously awaiting HN to ring my doorbell.  When he hugged me the moment I opened the door, I realized I didn’t know where we stood at all.  As we climbed the stairs to my main floor and he told me that the drunk girl from last night had thrown-up so she slept on his couch, I didn’t think about why he had taken her back to his place.  As I handed him a water bottle, he pulled me into another hug, a different hug, a caressing embrace.  That embrace led to a kiss, which led to clothes on my floor, and sober sex with my next door neighbor.  I didn’t think, I just let my body take over, absorbing every ounce of affection that I had been longing for over the past year.  Afterwards, lying next to him in my bed realizing how many lines I had just crossed and how much I liked him, I knew I was in over my head.  

Hot Neighbor didn’t hang around long after sex.  Left alone with my thoughts, a dangerous place to be under normal circumstances, I began to spiral.  I don’t want to be his fuck buddy, the fat neighbor he fucks out of convenience, I don’t want to be that girl and I have tried so hard to not be that girl.  I knew he and I needed to talk about it, that I needed to say that friends was a better idea considering we’re neighbors, but how do you bring that up?  I tried inviting him over for a drink during the week but he had plans that night.  I practiced the conversation in my head over and over.  That I wasn’t saying I wanted more from him, just in general I’m in a place in my life that I’m looking for more than casual.  

With Friday off, I spent the day at our neighborhood pool, day drinking and making new friends.  When Hot Neighbor asked if I wanted to come take a shot of tequila at his house, I was way too many White Claws in to have a proper conversation but didn’t realize it.  Have you ever had one of those conversations that the harder you try to fix it the more it snowballs out of control?  When “I don’t want to be fuck buddies” turns into, “You don’t want to be with me anyway, I would destroy your life.” I didn’t know what to say but of course I tried.  He said I would end up getting drunk and fucking him again in a couple months.  My mind said, well that does sound like me, but it also infuriated me.  How dare he!  When he told me he had a very hot but very stupid girl coming over, I knew I had to get out of there.  What he was saying didn’t add up to the person who sat in my living room the week before.  It didn’t add up to the person who told my friends about his broken engagement. But it did sound like so many shitty guys from my past.  

I reacted in the only way drunk me knew how, I sat on my couch crying and texted my much younger ex, P (full story on him in a later post).  He couldn’t come over that night but would text me the next day to hang out.  Although we are never ever going to work out, I knew that P would make me feel wanted and at that moment I needed to feel desired.  I needed Hot Neighbor to know I was wanted by other people.  

When P showed up to the alley party the next night and met all my neighbors, he held my hand and kissed me.  I’ve never been a dirty secret with him.  Our first date was a huge cocktail party with all his friends.  I go back to him because he has never made me feel like I wasn’t good enough; he has always been proud to be seen with me and to show affection.  Hot Neighbor wasn’t there and that didn’t matter, I needed P’s attention.  After an hour at the party and several hours back at my house, I was reminded that casual doesn’t have to lack passion. P left because he had an early tee time.  I tried my best to persuade him to stay the night, and as he put it “used my witchery” to prolong his departcher, but few things get in the way of him and golf. 

After he left, I checked my phone to find Hot Neighboor texted me several hours before.  “What are ya’ll getting into tonight?”  I should have let it go, but I didn’t.  I said, “Sorry I had company.”  

HN: No worries. Are those fireworks coming from our neighborhood?

Harper: I think so?  I have sparklers I haven’t used. 

HN: You dog. How late do these people stay up partying?  I still haven’t reached my drunk peak. 

Harper: I think they are still in the alley

HN: Do you want to drink?

Harper: Sure

HN: Don’t sound so excited

Harper: My place or yours?

HN: You are welcome to come over or we can go to the alley your choice. 

Harper: I just asked if they are still out there. 

HN: Tight. Tequila shot? 

After a shot of tequila, me alluding to my company, and him reminding me that he will always be the first person I had sex with in my house, we headed to the neighborhood party that was still going at 1am.  When I walked up, one of the neighbors who I had just met that night blurted out “that isn’t the guy you left with earlier.” I felt both embarrassed and vindicated.  I told her that HN was just a neighbor I walked over with and that P had left, a sentiment I had to repeat to several different people.  The more people commented on where P went and pried for details, the more Hot Neighbor was on his phone, well until a girl showed up in the alley.  She had some kind of accident so he had sent her to his house by herself to get cleaned up.  When we all gave him a hard time about how he should have gone with her, he said “I mean I don’t care about her, I’m not going to sleep with her.” 

My new adorable gay couple besties, M&C,  said something about would you have sent Harper down an alley by herself, and NH’s answer shook me.  He said of course not and if that was me he would drop his drink, run after me and make sure I was home and safe in bed.  When he saw the look on their faces, he started to back peddle, I matter because we’re neighbors, she's like a sister.  I gave him a look, and he retracted the sister comment.  

Are you confused yet?  Because I sure am.  C took me upstairs to freshen up my hair and clean up my melting mascara.  When we returned the girl was back, and as much as I wanted to dislike her because of the circumstance, she was actually very sweet.  But I couldn’t help but notice she was the exact opposite of me.  Tall, thin athletic build, long brown hair, brown eyes and a tan I will only have if I pay someone to airbrush me.  I probably weigh two of her.  How can I believe he is into me if he is into her?  When they started to kiss I was done, it was 3:30am anyway.  

Walking away from the party I knew he was going to sleep with her, and it bothered me more than I wanted it to.  I had slept with someone else, I had no right to be jealous, but it still raged inside of me.  Every bit of validation I had gotten from P and our time together was gone.  

Over the next week Hot Neighbor and I really didn’t talk.  A snapchat here or there, he would watch my instagram stories, but no real contact.  I knew he had a military exercise coming up, he is in the reserves, and that would mean he would be leaving for a few weeks.  Thursday evening he sent a snap of his packed bags.  I responded asking when he was leaving and he said Saturday morning.  I felt the need to see him before he left.  I was cooking dinner for M&C and invited him over for a drink with us.  Dinner led to us hanging out in M&C’s garage and lots of neighbors stopping by.  

When Hot Neighbor finally got there, I felt so anxious.  I tried my best to not flirt and to talk to other people as much as possible.  Someone I had just met said something about how long my boyfriend and I had been in the neighborhood.  I quickly corrected them and said we were just next door neighbors.  I talked to a gorgeous older Latino man who was there with a friend.  We were having the best conversation, and I said something about being single and buying a house on my own.  He said, “wait you’re single?  I thought you were with,” and he pointed out Hot Neighbor.  Knowing I was single apparently changed everything for this dreamboat of a man, his words not mine.  He asked if he could walk me home, and after some hesitation I said yes.  

I didn’t say goodbye to HN, but when I said goodbye to C he told me that when Hot Neighbor wasn’t with me he couldn’t keep his eyes off me.  I wanted to believe it was because C is my friend and not because Hot Neighbor really was giving off “we’re together vibes” to everyone that night.  I kept trying to push it out of my mind.  Hot Neighbor left for his military thing and I thought this meant I could get my head together, except all weekend people who met us that night kept commenting on how they thought we were a couple, and well he is clearly into you then.  

How am I supposed to get my head on straight about us being friends when he acts like that?  How am I supposed to believe the things that come out of his mouth about being terrible for me when he looks at me with his big hazel eyes and I have to look away because it makes my heart flutter?  Why can’t I just believe him and shut off my feelings?  

This is like every guy from my 20s in DC - the pattern I have been trying so hard to break.  He is broken, and I think I can fix him. But if history is any indication I can’t.  I refuse to spend months or years of my life on another person who is never going to change, or grow up, or realize that they want to be with me.  How do I make my heart stop feeling like this?  I know how it is going to end; he even told me how it is going to end. Why do I still want to believe he got scared of his feelings and is pushing me away?  How can so many things in my life have changed, and I still can’t pass up a broken Peter Pan of a boy destined to break my heart?  

I shouldn’t spend another minute on him, yet I have spent hours pouring all my feelings and our story onto these pages.  Thousands of words written just to remind myself that this isn’t a Hallmark movie.  He told me who he is, and I need to start believing him.  Can one of you show me how? 

Letter to My Future

As I have watched my parents relationship fracture and crumble, I have seen the man my father truly is.  As the lies are exposed and the rose colored glasses are removed, I wonder if I will ever be able to trust a man fully again.  How do I continue to believe in love when my example of love is broken?  Somehow I still have hope that someone is out there for me, and if they are, I have a few things to say to them.   

Hello,

I am not sure if you are out there looking for me, or if we have already met.  Maybe you are still sowing your wild oats, and that is ok.  When we make our way to each other I want you to be ready.  We won’t be young and stupid or trapping each other.  I want us to choose each other.  I want you to see my flaws with open eyes and love me because I am not perfect, not in spite of it.   

Be forewarned, I come with baggage.  I have spent my life being an afterthought for the men in my life, neglected and ignored.  Make me a priority, because you will always be my priority.  Hold my hand when we are walking through a crowd so that I never feel lost.  Never hush me or try to dampen my light because you never want me to feel small. Learn the small things about me, like how I take my coffee or what I want on my hamburger.  Those small everyday things are more important than the big romantic gestures to me.  I would rather you really know me than have the big social media worthy moments.

Accept my eccentricity, they are what make me interesting and who I am.  It took me a long time to not hide behind pearls, a southern accent , and a smile.  I am not ashamed of my fandoms, or all the cat pictures on my phone.  Embrace the things that bring me joy, even if you don’t understand them.  I will always embrace the things that make you you.  Make an effort to get to know my friends; they are my chosen family and aren’t going anywhere.     

It doesn’t all fall on you.  I promise to tell you how I feel instead of internalizing things.  I will listen and pay attention to you, because what you say matters to me.  Laughter will be something I strive for with you every day because I want you to be my best friend. I know we have both been independent for a long time and will respect that we need our own space.  I never want us to lose who we are as individuals just because we are together as a couple.     

I am waiting for you because I know our love will be worth it.  I won’t settle for someone else out of fear you might not come or impatience that you are taking too long.  Actually, I will never let fear or insecurities drive our relationship.  I have watched what fear of being alone can do to a marriage over 38 years.  We will not be my parents. I will remember you are not my father.  

While I wait, I will let life happen, but know I am ready when you are.  

Until we find each other,

H   

Perfect Storm of Sadness

I am sad.  I am sad for a whole host of reasons.  I am sad because I am sleeping with someone I could actually really see myself with, but I am too scared to ask for anything more than occasional sex.  I am sad because M sent me a booty call text that made me so angry I could scream, and the fact that it made me feel something so extreme makes me sad.  I am sad because I finally told Bee how she makes me feel inadequate and she didn’t at all comprehend it, and now I feel like I am losing one of my oldest friends.  I am sad because maybe no matter how much self discovery I go through, I will still just be a girl seeking the approval of other people: of men, of friends, of anyone and everyone who might just for a second solidify that I am real and solid and worth something.  Maybe no matter how strong of a woman I have become there are moments when I am just a sad broken girl.

Sad and broken are the perfect words to describe how I feel in this moment.  All of this comes on the heels of things that should make me feel empowered.  I have a man who I enjoy having sex with and he enjoys having sex with me, and that should be empowering, to enjoy my body.  Instead I find myself just wishing Evan would want more from me than just my body.  I told him that the intimacy of staying the night with someone is just as important to me as sex, so he gave me that.  He stayed, he engulfed me in his arms, gently pressing his lips to my forehead.  He talked to me about real parts of his life.  I mistook him giving me what I told him I needed for him actually caring.  He cares about fulfilling my needs, not because he is falling In love with me, but it is what lovers do, they scratch an itch.  The problem with receiving intimacy from someone who doesn’t want to be with you is intimacy fosters feelings.  

So, here I am sad that I have contracted feelings for my fuck buddy and M has to go and text me.  We had been at a going away party for one of our friends, and I will admit I looked great, but losing 26lbs will do that for you!  M leaves early and while I am still sitting at the bar with our friends drinking cheap beer and debating the merits of everyone taking a fireball shot, my phone buzzes.  There it was, “Hey.”  It sat right below the message from January where he said “You are a pretty girl, I just can’t do this.”  That “Hey” was a punch in the gut.  What the actual fuck?  He has no right to text me.  He couldn’t even try to have a conversation with me for the 4 hours we were in the same room, but he thinks a drunk “Hey” is appropriate?  I have been such an adult about our whole situation, and he goes and does something as childish as testing the waters with a booty text.  I wanted so badly to text and ask if he was serious, but our friends talked me off the ledge.  I didn’t respond, and that should make me feel empowered.   

The worst part is since that text I have been so angry!  I have wanted to yell at him, tell him that he was the one that chose not to be with me, so he will never have the right to text me.  To scream that he needs to grow up, if not for himself than for his friends that have to constantly apologize for his shitty behavior.  More than anything I want to yell at myself for wanting to yell at all.  I have spent the last 6 months figuring out how not to care about M.  I tried to give him my heart and he didn’t want it.  He doesn’t get to want or have any other part of me, not even my anger.  

As I try to decipher my feelings for two guys that don’t want my heart just my body, I am also trying to decide what to do about my friendship with one of my oldest friends.  Bee and I have been friends for almost a decade.  There are very few memories about college that don’t have her in them.  I love her truly, but loving her and being her friend has not always been easy.  When we are one on one, Bee is the best friend that she knows how to be.  When we are in public, around other people, I have often felt like Bee’s sidekick.  Over the years, I have often felt like she acted like she didn’t know why I was hanging around when we were around people who didn’t know us that well.  Or that she wouldn’t stand up for me if it would affect the time she was having.  Maybe it has always been in my head, but I have, especially since we graduated college, felt uncomfortable and like I had to prove my worthiness.  I don’t believe Bee has any idea that she does this, but that still doesn’t make it right.  Just because she is the best friend that she knows how to be does not mean she is a good friend.  

After a recent wedding of one of our college friends, I actually stood up for myself and told Bee how I felt. After sending that message, instead of feeling empowered, I felt like I was going to throw up.  It took her a week to respond, and when she did, it was just hours before I left the country for 4 days I didn’t know how to process the novel she sent.  For the past month I have been putting it off.  Starting message after message, but never truly knowing what to say.  Am I ok with losing her?  Losing the one person who knows all my college secrets, heartbreaks, and triumphs?  Am I willing to settle for less than the kind of friendship I know I deserve?  How do you say I love you but you are a shitty friend without having to rehash every moment that they made you feel less important than they are?  I don’t know what to say, and it makes me sad.  

Sadness scares me.  Sadness is the slippery slope to that dark and twist place that I fight so hard to avoid.  But sadness is a part of life, and I know that.  I just wish I wasn’t smack in the middle of the perfect storm of sadness.  

Crossing the Pond

Tomorrow Chloe and I will embark on our UK adventure!  We have been planning our trip to London for the past 6 months, and I am ecstatic it is finally here.  We of course will be spending some time with Teddy, and hopefully the hot British friends he has made.  I can not wait to take in the palaces, gardens, and parks that I have been dreaming about for as long as I can remember.  This trip is a dream come true and I am so glad that I get to experience it with my best friend, Chloe.    

I can not wait to tell you all about our adventures when we return!  So prepare yourself for tales of the glories of London, and the many cute British accents that I am bound to fall in love with along the way!  

A Final Attempt

I guess Dressgate was totally worth it since I have never had so many compliments on a dress in my life.  I felt pretty, and that was exactly what I was going for.  Taste of The South was such a fun event, although I still can’t feel my toes.  It was wonderful to see so many people that I rarely run into anymore.  There is one person who I still can’t decide how I feel about running into, Liam (The Many Loves of my Life, Strangers Now?).  

It’s been two years since I've seen Liam, yet he looks exactly the same, he looks good.  Boy always has looked good in a suit, and in a tux dear god!  It’s funny how seeing someone can trig things you haven't felt or thought about in quite a while.  I can’t remember the last time Liam had crossed my mind, but the moment I saw him I had a knot in the pit of my stomach.  I don’t know if it is because I will always have feelings for him, or if I just have never known what went wrong with us, but seeing him throws off my equilibrium.  

After a few cocktails I decided that I looked too good not to take this opportunity to talk to him.  Shoving my throbbing feet back in my heels I threw caution to the wind and went and said hello.  He was nice, cordial, asking several times if I was well.  We said let’s get drinks and catch up sometime and that was it.  I had done it, probably a little drunker than I should have, but at least I had talked to him.  

Although I am proud of myself for talking to him, I have not been able to shake him from my thoughts.  Liam and how our friendship abruptly ended with no explanation is one of my life’s mysteries.  I decided that I would email him.  Just a quick good to see you.  Glad to know you are well.  Let’s grab a drink some time.  Short and sweet and cordial, like our run in at TOTS.    

Sometimes you do things not because you expect something in return, but for yourself.  You need to know you did everything to try to possibly save something that once meant so much to you. That is what that email was for me. It was my attempt for him to get to know the woman I have become, and to find out what kind of man he has become. Four years ago I was a girl trying to figure out what it meant to be an adult. I was idealistic, believing that life could be as simple as falling into the job I always wanted and meet an amazing boy all at the same time.  I had yet to take off the rose colored glass that I wore to look at the world.  

Liam was the light in that world that was starting to be so much different that I had dreamed.  He was more kind to me than any boy had ever been in all my life, and truly no one has been as kind since.  I was used to being called fat, and written off by the guys I went to college with.  When Liam would tell me I looked pretty his eyes showed that he was sincere.  The way they would twinkle and the corners of his mouth would curl into the hint of a smile always gave his thoughts away.  Seeing him I felt like I was that 23 year old girl all over again, looking for that twinkle and that hint of a smile.  But I am not that girl, I am so much better.  I am a woman that seeks approval in myself, not others.  I know who I am, what I want, and that I am the only one that can get it for myself.  

I don’t know that I can ever truly express how much Liam meant to me back then, what he represented, or how hard I would fight for him in my life if it was a possibility.  That is what my email was, one more attempt to fight, just so I can know I did.  Liam won’t respond, I knew that when I sent it.  The final decision about our friendship was made by him long ago.  I guess I was just holding on to a tiny glimmer of hope that he might have forgive whatever it was that destroyed our friendship.  Now I know that any hope for that is gone.  Maybe now my heart won’t flutter if I see him, maybe now I can finally let go.  

Tinder Failure

I have come to a conclusion that is undeniably sad - I am bad at online dating.  I, Harper Waverly, am a Tinder failure.  I do not know how people develop real life relationships based off of a profile with all the best pictures of themselves and an unrealistic assessment of how many times they drink/work-out a week.  In person I dazzle, but via dating app, I am a complete flop.  

I don’t know how to be witty without being too flirty, to show interest without coming off as only wanting to hook up.  Part of the dilemma is the pervy mindset of the opposite sex when they message me on said dating apps.  When trying not to give the wrong impression, I fear I come off as boring.  It’s disheartening to try to get to know someone before deciding to meet up, and be met with radio silence. It’s important to figure out where you are from, whether you went to college, and if you’re basically a normal human being and not a serial killer.

Some of it might be that I really don’t know how to be flirty without being sexy (See Bombshell), especially in messages.  Maybe that says something about me as a person, and the types of guys I attract.  I also believe that guys push the envelope with curvy women because many of them expect us to have lower self-esteem, and therefore have lower standards.  I could show you several examples of the same guy asking a thinner girl on a date and a curvy girl to his bed.  Also, it’s unbelievable how stupid some guys will talk to two girls at one time when the girls are in each others’ pictures.              

If one more guy starts off with “DTF?”, I might explode.  I guess it is men just playing the odds, but in all honesty, I don’t know what self-respecting girl actually responds to that.  Maybe it is just me, but if you really want to “make my panties drop” then take me to drinks or dinner and engage me in meaningful conversation.  Ask questions about me, and at least pretend to care about the answers.  In short, be a man, not some douchy boy-man-lazy-pervert whose idea of making an effort is sending an uber.  

I know many of you are probably thinking, come on it’s Tinder what do you expect.  And some of you are probably wanting to remind me of my own Tinder Adventures, but my mindset has changed.   But I am asking how else am I suppose to meet someone?  Match.com?  I tried that, and men are just as shallow there, so I threw away money for 6 months with no dates.  The old fashioned way?  Well, if you can explain to me how this even relates to our society today then sure I would give it a shot.  I know happy couples who met through Tinder. Apparently it worked for them, so why not me?  

As bad as I am at Tinder, I am going to keep trying.  Why you ask?  Well, I don’t really have any other option do I?  I will never meet anyone if I don’t put myself out there.  Getting a match is a bit of a confidence boost, even if 90% of my matches never talk to me.  At the very least I have seen some of the most hilarious/ disturbing pick up lines, of which I have screenshots for future entertainment.  A friend of mine put it best when she said, “It feels like we have two options, Tinder or dying alone.”  So, Tinder it is   

Falling into Melancholy

Fall is starting to creep in.  The brisk mornings are becoming more frequent and before we know it, we won’t be able to leave home without a jacket.  I love boots and tights, sweaters and dark nails.  I love football Saturdays and Sundays, and the sense of comradery that doesn't seem to be there any other time of year.  The warm aromas of spice, pumpkin, and burning wood in the crisp air are comforting.  There is nothing like melting into your favorite sweater for the first time in months with a glass of red wine in your hand.  My playlists tend to slow down, and my nights in tend to increase.  Fall is the slow beginning to the long cozy winter hibernation.  As much as I love the changing leaves and lack of humidity, I often find myself a little melancholy and don’t quite know why.  

Maybe it is my newly increased age finally sinking in.   Maybe it is my DC anniversary reminding me how long I have been here, and how far away from my career goals I still am.  Or maybe it is because I was two sizes smaller back then, with confidence and a string of boys.  Maybe it is because fall reminds me of some many beginnings, that had such tragic endings.  I have always fallen in love in fall.  I look at all the epic relationships I have ever had, and they all began with the brisk autumn air.    

Daniel shyly asked me to the movies at the fall Hot Air Balloon festival when I was 15. I met Bryan on a cool Mississippi September night my freshman year of college.  Adam sat next to me in my political theory class fall of Sophomore year.  D asked to buy me a drink after trivia one night in October 3 years ago.  Stefan and I spent the fall starting something that I thought was going to be great.  For so long fall was for falling in love, until last year when fall was for falling apart.  

I won’t blame my dark time all on fall, but fall is when I realized how deep I had slipped into an emotional state that I couldn't get out of on my own.  It is when I began the fight back.  The thing about depression is that the downward spiral is the easy part, it’s climbing your way out of it, really dealing with it that is difficult.  It is taking the medications that make you sleepy, dizzy  and kind of numb, and having to share every dark and twisty part of yourself with a licensed professional, who is also still a stranger, that takes everything you have left.  Yes, I am stronger for all of it, but it took the of the magic out of fall for me.  

I want fall to be about wine tastings and brunches.  I want the excitement of a football game or an election night party.  I want to enjoy pumpkin flavored treats while wearing cute sweaters.  I want to flirt with men while talking about bourbon.  I want red lipstick pouts peeking out of scarves.  I want the rush of being walked home from the bar with the man’s jacket over my shoulders to keep warm.  I want fall to be about the twinkle in my eye again.  I am not saying fall has to be for falling in love with a man, but maybe the way to shake this melancholy is to try to fall in love with fall again.              

The Good Out Weighs the Bad

Some days, you just like the way your dress fits, or the way your hair is laying.  Some days, you just feel 100% comfortable in your own skin.  These days are few and far between for me, especially during bathing suit season, but today is one of those days.  Maybe it is the fact that a cute boy from Tinder asked me out on a date.  Maybe it is how completely comfortable I am in my new job, and that happiness is spilling over.  Maybe it is the fact that I am feeling so blessed by the amazing friends I have surrounded myself with.  Friends that believe in judgement-free, unconditional support.  

More likely than not it is the cute boy.  Let’s call him Mr. South America, since he spends half his time there for work.  He is cute, taller than me when I wear heels, and constantly tells me how pretty I am.  I think most men underestimate the power of a compliment as simple as telling a girl you think she is pretty or beautiful.  “God, you're gorgeous” at random will make a girl melt, at least this girl.  Mr. South America and I met for late drinks and the chemistry was there immediately.  He made me laugh, so basically he found the two ways to melt my ever hardening heart, appeal to my vanity and my sense of humor. I broke my rule and let him kiss me in the bar, and stay the night on a first date.  Our sleepover was tame, clothed, and limited to making out and cuddling.  He only got the invite because we drank too much for him to drive home.  He wants to see me again when he gets back from South America in 2 weeks, and that excites me.  

I need it, a good date, a guy that actually wants to spend time with me, someone that makes it easier to love myself.  The creeps, users, and heartbreakers have been in full force lately.  There is the Facebook Messenger, who, after not seeing me for over a year, thinks I will just invite him over to have sex.  Which is even worse than the Saturday Morning Texter.  I am not 22 anymore.  I want more than a booty call.  It isn’t that I want more from either of them, just in general, I want more than that.  I don’t want a boy that makes me feel like the only thing I am good for is my ass or my nice rack.  Yes, maybe it is my own fault that one of them thinks his messages are ok.  Over the years when the loneliness is all consuming and the text arrives, the need to be touched overcomes my need for something more.  I have even been the instigator, sending a text or two of my own.  I have let it go on for so long, probably because once upon a time, I had feelings for him.  Once upon a time, I thought he and I could have had something real.         

The worst is Mr. Martini, who definitely deserves a martini thrown in his face.  I don’t begrudge him for meeting someone else that he is “head over heels for,” but I do begrudge him telling me in a text message.  I loathe him for acting interested, when he never really was.  I wish I could have back the hours of texting about movies, tv, and everything else we have in common.  It isn’t that he broke my heart, but more that he reminded me that I am too often the girl before “THE Girl.”  

I don’t know that things with Mr. South America are going to work out.  But I do know that he has already treated me with more respect than the above listed three.  Instead of feeding on my insecurities, he reminds me of my beauty.  I don’t need a boy telling me I am pretty to know I am pretty, but it sure helps to not have one pointing out your flaws.  My life is great, and today I am appreciating the good.  As frustrated as I get with all the boy drama, I know that its is the assholes, creeps, and heartbreakers that help me know when something is truly good.         

Dating is Hard

I am sure all of you are tired of the self-discovery, emotionally-settled Harper because I give you nothing juicy to read.  The truth is it kind of bores me too.  I am trying to have a healthy dating life and all that means is a lot more lonely nights.  I am not supposed to kiss a boy unless he takes me on a date first, which puts quite the damper on my kissing whore ways.  I know it is for the best, and if I want something real I have to actually spend my time with other people looking for the same thing.  

So, I pay for Match.com, and I have gone on a total of zero dates in the past 2 months.  The men that want to talk to me ignite zero spark.  I go through my daily matches and I message the men I am interested in only to be disappointed by the lack of response.  Tinder is a confidence booster and Match.com is a confidnce killer.  Maybe that is why I broke all my rules for a tall lobbyist with mesmerizing green eyes.  Evan was the only guy in all of Jack Rose that I wanted to talk to.  I spent hours trying to figure out a way to get him to talk to me, and finally his group split enough for me to find an in.  While ordering a drink at the bar we struck up a conversation and before I knew it he was paying for my drink and getting my number.    

As we went back to our respective friend groups my phone buzzed.  As we texted and made plans for a date the next week I couldn’t help but want to kiss Evan.  Out of the blue, a drink appeared in front of me, and yet Evan didn’t stick around to talk.  Could it be his motives were pure?  The rules went out the window.  I had to make out with this man, but right when I made my decision, his friends insisted that he leave.  Shortly after my own group started to break apart, and I decided to head home alone.  While in the cab my phone dings and it was a certain lobbyist wondering if I was still out.  

I knew I shouldn’t break my rules but the idea of that tall gorgeous man kissing me, touching me put me over the edge.  The invitation was extended, he was in a cab heading my way.  I frantically picked things up around my apartment and stuffed them in drawers and closets, damning my lack of cleaning in recent days.  I checked my make up, peeled off my spanxs and replaced them with something lacey.  Although, I made it very clear that if he came we were just making out, what adults remain fully clothed when rolling around a bed, even if they are just making out?

I buzz him up, anxiety coursing through me.  When he walks through the door he kisses me, grabbing my face with one hand and slightly lifting me with the other to bridge the foot difference in our height.  Damn.  That was all I could think, damn.  He pulls away gazes into my eyes and says, “hi.”  I reciprocate the greeting and then he says something so simple yet so sexy, “I have been wanting to do that since the moment I saw you.”  How can you not kiss someone after hearing something like that?

As he breathed my name into my ear I felt my whole body ignite.  There is something exhilarating about a man whispering your name while they explore every curve, unwilling to stop touching any part of you that they are allowed.  It is empowering, intoxicating, thrilling to have someone unable to get enough of you, unwilling to leave your bed, in awe of your beauty.  It’s a high, and I know I am like an addict that just fell of the wagon.  The physical touch does not fill my craving for love, just intensifies it.  It begins the “will he or won’t he call?”

Surprisingly, Evan was a man of his word, at first at least.  He texted me on the first day of my new job, and he made plans to take me to dinner that he actually followed through on.  I had a lovely time and felt this spark with him, but after that dinner I never heard from him again.  After igniting a spark he left me to alone to go up in flames.  That is why I don’t break the rules, that is why you stay on the wagon, to avoid that feeling of not being worth the real thing.  

I know I deserve the spark, the electricity, and the relationship.  That is why I shouldn’t kiss someone before they earn it, shouldn’t share my bed with someone that can’t take the time to take me on a date.  As much as I pretend I am a modern woman that can separate the physical and the emotional when a boy lays in my bed, looks me in the eyes and tells me I am beautiful I melt.  Dating is hard, and it is anything but simple.  But I am not giving up just yet.      

Perfect?

The moment that someone leans in and kisses you for the first time is a moment of pure unadulterated romance. I am not talking about the boy that drunkenly, sloppily kisses you after a tequila shot. I am talking about the guy that walks you home just to make sure you get there safe. When that guy leans in and gives you a chaste kiss on the lips your heart skips a beat. The sounds of a mellow indie rock love song play in your head.  Every first kiss like that seems like possibly the beginning.  

Unfortunately not every kiss is the beginning, and not every romantic moment is part of a greater romance.  Sometimes a moment is just that: fleeting, insignificant, and forgettable.  Romance can be falsely manufactured for a boy’s own purpose.  Hope can be given as a means to an end.  

When the other shoe drops and the moments of pure ecstasy are revealed as purely moments of convenience, your heart breaks.  Not because you were in love, but it breaks that the possibility of love is no longer there.  Being disappointed by someone you have pined over, been sweet talked by, can make another tiny piece of your heart harden.  How long until your whole heart is cold and hard?  

My heart breaks because I am just as far from finding a relationship, a partner, love than I was a week ago, maybe even further away.  Maybe it is because I don’t know how to reconcile the romantic side of me with the sensual side.  How do I be the bombshell with a heart?  If I am one, they want the other.  I don’t know how to shake my sense of inadequacy when every corner I turn, I am being told I am not good enough for something or someone.  All I want in life is to be not just enough for someone, but to be someone’s own idea of perfect.  

I have spent so much of my life trying to please everyone, to be perfect and put together, hiding behind makeup and clothes.  I will never be perfect, because the reality is I am a mess.  But there is someone out there that will think that my neurotic, obsessive, nerdy tendencies make me their own idea of perfect.  

Besides, that guy, that I believe is looking for me too, I have to learn to see myself as MY OWN idea of perfect.  I have to love my curves and the fact that my hair will never grow long.  I have to adore the fact that one of my eyes gets droopy when I have had too much to drink, and that my left knee will always hurt when it rains.   I have to stop chastising myself for not being what I think I should be.  There are some things about myself I can never change, and those are the things that make me unique, the things that make me Harper.

Instead of trying to be what I think will attract romance, I need to be me.  Maybe then, instead of a fleeting moment, I will find my great romance.            

Tinder Adventure

I have started on a boy adventure, a Tinder boy adventure. Yes, that is right, everyone's favorite hot or not hookup app is responsible for the new guy in my life. No, this is not a story of how I fell in love on a Tinder date, and it can happen to you too. This is me finally using Tinder for what it is intended, hooking up.

I know what you are thinking ... God she is a whore, and think what you want. I have had Tinder since the summer and had only been on one date. I mostly have used the app to stifle boredom and to boost my confidence when a hot guy swipes right and we match. After my first bad experience on a Tinder date, I summed it up to harmless fun. I would block the boys who start their chats with, “dtf?” and say hi to the ones I really wanted to chat me back.  

One unsuspecting Saturday morning I got a chat from a very attractive, chiseled 34 year old.  This is how our conversation started:

Tinder Boy: Hi there

Me: Hey

Tinder Boy: Your Sexy :) Love a women with curves.  (ok SOLD!  He is hot and likes curvy women!)

Me: Well Thank you! You're pretty sexy yourself (total understatement).  Where are you from?

Tinder Boy: Atlanta (Of course he is! Damn Georgia Boys!)

Tinder Boy: Maybe we can share a bottle of wine and snuggle up to a movie sometime.  I have a nice condo all to myself :)

(Damn this guy is good!  Wine, movies, and cuddling are 3 of my favorite things! How can I resist?)

We continued on with a banter during which I called him trouble and he called me gorgeous.  Phone numbers were exchanged, and the sexting games began.  Little known fact about me, and some of you might think this is TMI, but I am a master sexter.  I know most people just think of sexting as sending naughty pictures, but the real art is keeping a guy intrigued without a picture.  If you are a sext beginner, here are two key phrase that will never fail you: “You’re so dirty” and “I aim to please”.  

Although Tinder Boy wanted to see me that weekend, I was busy (true story too, I already had plans).  Also, it was Tinder, so I wanted to see if he would stay interested for a whole week.  Oh boy did he!  But during this week my friends started to plant crazy notions into my head.  Elle was determined that Tinder Boy was not real, and I was going to get catfished.  She thought it would be funny if I showed up, and he was a 50 year old balding fat man.  Chloe was sure I would get murdered, reminding me of several SVU episodes.  I started to get anxious about going to Tinder Boy’s place.  I know a healthy dose of fear is good, but I had already thought out escape plans.  I was going to send Conner the address and apartment number of Tinder Boy’s place with directions to call me if he hadn’t heard from me 2 hours after I arrived.  I was doing this!    

I know a million things could have gone wrong, and I would hate if someone had to tell my mother I got murdered in the pursuit of getting laid, but I need a little fun in my life.  Oh and fun I knew I would have!  Tinder Boy is also an advanced sexter, giving me a run for my money, and making me bring out the big guns.  

(WARNING: If you blush easily then the rest of this post might not be for you.  I am going to share some intimate details.)  

By big guns I mean role play.  I had never tested out this tactic before because so many boys I encounter assume I am a goodie goodie when it comes to sex and don’t engage me in this beautiful art of text message seduction.  What role play scenario did we play?  Well, I decided to start with a classic.  I was a Catholic school girl, so schoolgirl and hot teacher was an easy one to play.  After some “would you keep me after school”s and “teach me how to please you”s, Tinder Boy was eating out of the palm of my hand.  

I was beyond excited for our date when a girl’s worst enemy made an early appearance, damn you Mother Nature!  I decided after the way we had been texting it would be necessary to tell him before I went over.  So, I went with the following text “So, Mother Nature is a bitch and decided to make an early appearance.  You still up for wine, a movie, and dry humping like teenagers? Hehe”.  This well crafted message worked!  He had planned a last minute trip, so we decided to postpone to the movie until after he returned and have a hand session.  Hand session you ask? Well, this is just another name for fooling around.  Hands finding their way around each others bodies, kissing, touching, discovering each others’ likes.  Tinder Boy likes talking dirty with me, and makes sure I’m completely satisfied.

So, I obviously did not get murdered since I am writing this, but did he look like his pictures?  Yes! He still has all his hair, his body is as rocking as the selfies he sent me, and all around a major hottie!  He is shorter than I thought he would be, only just slightly taller than me, but I can wear flats for this level of fun!  

I was extremely nervous when I got to his place.  He had told me he was going to hop in the shower and to let myself in.  Of course he was still in the shower when I got there.  I tell him I am there through the bathroom door. He sends me a text to make myself comfortable in the bedroom. I start to freak out thinking “Oh goodness. Maybe I am not ready for this, I can still leave.”  Then he comes out in a towel with a body like wow! He makes a joke about me probably being relieved that he wasn't old and bald, and, let’s be honest, I was!  He doesn't take the time to get dressed, just comes over to the bed wrapped in a towel and kisses me hello.  Kissing, I am good at that! That is a great place to start, deep passionate, kissing.   I wasn't so nervous any more. First my black v-neck tee comes off revealing my sexiest black lace bra. Minutes later I work my way out of my skinny jeans, left in my bra and thong, evening the whole clothes ratio. They never came off, pulled and pushed around, yes, but never removed entirely.  Tinder boy went to work proving to me that he is good with his hands, spending more time at it than anyone has since high school, when it was as far as they were getting with me.

I repaid the favor, making quick work of it by whispering dirty tidbits from our sext fantasies. That's the great thing about sexting, you can find out a guys triggers before you even get them in the bedroom.  A few choice words make a simple hand job into an ultra sexy treat.  

We laid  in bed cuddling and talking for an hour, getting to know each other a little better.  Him talking about crossfit and his trip to Europe, and me about why I love DC and where I am from. We both discussed how screwed up the dating scene in DC is, how many people cheat, and what we are looking for someday when we are done having fun. I can tell we are at no risk of falling in love, just two people who are physically attracted to each other, looking for someone willing to be adventurous and play with us.

I didn't realize how stifled I had been sexually until Tinder boy entered the picture and made me realize I am not dirty for wanting adventurous sex. It is normal to have fantasies and turn ons, it's sexy even.  I think that is why when my friends, especially my guy friends, call me Mom I get so offended. It makes me feel so asexual, when I am in fact a very sexual person. I don't sleep around often, and I try to only sleep with people I see potential with, but sometimes sex is just sex, and that is healthy.  

Tinder Boy sexted me only an hour after I left and right up until he got on a plane to leave the country for the week. I will say this, I am under no impression that this will turn into some wonderful relationship.  I am taking it at face value - a fun hot guy who wants to hook up and likes what I am working with.  In my opinion, there is nothing wrong with a having a fun buddy as long as everyone involved is on the same page.  So, I find myself ordering things from the Victoria’s Secret Semi-Annual Sale and waiting for my next adventure with Tinder Boy.