Sudden Hotel Date, Part One

 

Sometimes an adventure, in retrospect, can seem like pure acting out. Summer Therapist would say “Act in, not out,” and that is absolutely right, but sometimes, I guess, I just need to take a leap, throw a tantrum, make a questionable choice I’ll probably live through. That’s how Sudden Hotel Date seems, or maybe it was just curiosity or too much time thinking about math for work. Maybe I wasn’t ready to face the sweet sincerity of my date with GWBS the night before. Or maybe it’s just what happened.

Sudden Hotel Date matched on Bumble and Feeld at once, which seemed like fate at the time but now seems just like: He got into town and he’s whatever the algorithms see as my type. He was visiting from a not-too-far away city, and his profile was written so romantically that it seemed like I really should meet him. Like me, he seemed to be looking for slutty romance, a partner in crime. More intriguing, he felt in his early banter like he wanted to be my friend!

Rainbow Pal has a comet these days and they’ve been having so much fun, why shouldn’t I try it?

It was a loooonnnnnggg workday so I was really just looking forward to doing the dishes and going right to bed. And oh yeah, it was trash night.

Sudden Hotel Date was only in town for a few days. I initially declined to meet up because I really needed time to introvert after my lovely time with GWBT. But when SHD said “Just come hang out with me in my upgraded suite,” my seen-too-many-movies brain took him up on it.

Is “upgraded suite” an insufferable phrase? Yes.

It didn’t matter that I was tired or that I would be showing up in my work clothes, my workaday undies not meant to be seen.

Well, it didn’t matter to me that I was tired. I pictured making friends among abundant hotel pillows, drifting off, maybe making out a little. Maybe I would drive home in the morning, dreamy and happy.

I sounds bananas, but he really made it sound like he wanted to make friends. I thought I was being banter-y and cute about my tiredness, but it made him change his tune:

“Well if you’re just gonna fall asleep we could reschedule. I’m in town til Thursday morning.”

But Wednesday night was scheduled to be grocery night with BFF, and besides, I was already downtown! I’d even found a nice parking space that didn’t cost a jillion dollars! I paid the meter and went to meet him.

Perfectly 1993 Guy Part Seven

 

 

So, just like at the beginning of summer, I was in waiting-for-letters mode as I settled into my Dad’s apartment in a suburb of Small Hometown City. His was a quintessential divorced-guy apartment, rent-to-own cream-colored furniture and nondescript lamps. Where were vertical blinds on every window. There were pretty pine trees around the front balcony though!  Dad was (and is) a man of routine and coffee, as I eventually grew up to be. (Coffee always, but the routine part of my heart took a while.) It was comforting and monotonous there, great for feeling safe and figuring out what was next.

 

During the intermittent times I lived with Dad, my bed was a waterbed, sheeted with mustard-colored cloths from my Grandpa’s restaurant days. It was heated and welcoming. There was a nice big closet for my not-many clothes and a yellow landline phone perched on top of a moving box. There was room on the windowsill for my thrift store tchotchkes.

 

The immediate challenge as my long-distance relationship with Perfectly 1993 Guy began was having anything to say in my letters. The main emotion of my early adulthood was exquisite boredom, still one of my very favorites. (These days, on the rare occasions when I’m called in to my college bookstore job, the boss saves the most tedious tasks for me and I’m grateful!)

 

But I could put off the letter writing troubles, because Perfectly 1993 Guy planned a visit almost right away. He and I had consecutive birthdays, though he was a year younger than me, so we planned for him to visit me at my Dad’s on the weekend of both birthdays. It was truly one of the top two most adorable weekends of my young life. It might take me a while to get my head around it but I’ll do my best to not take a million years.

Songs of the Week for Heartache

I still can't believe how much I can miss people I never met, so here are two pretty long-distance/breakup songs. I know we'll be fine, but jeez, I miss him.

Ohno, Mr. Sweetheart. A Breakup, I Think

Last Wednesday afternoon was an especially good one. Sweetie had played hookie from work and we went to our special library over by the city pool. We got out about a million books and then, feeling rich and satisfied, went over to the pool for a swim. I usually go by myself to the pool so I was extra-excited to be there with her. There’s been tension between us for the past few weeks and I was happy to feel it wash away in the sun and water—my heart felt truly free.

Part of the reason for this sense of well-being was that Wednesday night is my scheduled phone date with Mr. Sweetheart. Sweetie had already planned to take herself out and about so that we could have privacy and I had a cute nightgown picked out just in case I got asked what I was wearing. Plus! My visit to Mr. Sweetheart’s place was less than a week and a half away—I couldn’t wait for us to plan it!

Except. A post showed up in my facebook feed that said Mr. and Ms. Sweetheart were on a plane on the way across the country to visit friends. I’d known that they had a trip coming up but had no idea that it fell smack in the middle of our date night.

I felt hurt, disoriented, and left out, as if he didn’t really consider me a factor in his plans. I would have been happy to reschedule our call or even postpone it until after the trip if I’d been asked, but I wasn’t. I calmly left a voice mail saying as much, and he texted back when they landed. He was sorry for “not putting two and two together” and said he’d call but it wouldn’t be “full service.” It seemed pathetic to wait around for a call that he’d forgotten about, so I went out with Sweetie to pick out some new sheets and made some optimistic lingerie purchases while I was at it.

He told me to let him know when I was back from running errands, and when I did he called. He was very matter-of-fact about what was going on, saying he’d be better about the calendar but also just sort of breezing past the hurt. Knowing he was sitting next to Ms. Sweetheart made me feel like I had to reign in my emotions, too. He told me happily about the friends they were staying with and the poly meetup they were headed for. I felt ugly and stupid for having to be a complaint in the middle of his festivities, and would have given anything to be someplace other than sitting rejected in my pajamas as they joyously began their stay. I hated the role I was put in.

Businesslike, he asked me what my driving-to-his-house plans were for the following weekend. I felt startled by this since what just happened had not been resolved yet. It seemed crazy to drive that far for somebody who’d forget a date with me, but I pressed on figuring it’d be resolved by then.

Midsentence their friends arrived and that was that. With a businesslike “Okay, I’ll follow that up with you later,” he started ending the call and I was like “Are you kidding me? You’re hanging up on a conversation about how you…”I hatehate HATED being in this harpylike position so I hit “end call” without really thinking, and when I called back, he didn’t pick up.

What upset me the most was that instead of just enjoying Sweetie and my library books, I was now typing sad texts, turning off the phone, and crying my eyes out. It’s a leap that I take complete responsibility for, but I felt not just rejected by the Sweethearts but by the poly community as a whole—being cut off midconversation in the midst of their revelry made me feel like I’d tried to crash a party where I was unwelcome. What started out as a simple miscommunication had turned into what felt like a public humiliation, and (I have to say it!) not the good kind.

Still, I fully expected it to get worked out, that I would turn my phone back on and find some genuine effort to fix it, but there was none. (He’s gotta do SOMETHING,” Sweetie kept saying, as if we live in a movie and he could tool over and hold a boombox over his head.)

I wrote a gracious (if somewhat disingenuous) breakup text this morning because I didn’t know what else to do. I can’t be with someone who treats me like nothing as soon as his friends are around—I already went through it with The Man and once was too much.

But I didn’t WANT to break up. I wanted him to show that he cared, to somehow assure me that I wouldn’t slip through the cracks again. I wanted to hear from him so badly today that I thought I’d explode, but there was nothing, and I spent most of the day crying and feeling like a failure.

The thing is, everybody, this is the second time I’ve been forgotten in the last couple of weeks. When Steampunk Guy and I were making plans for our most recent shenanigans, he sort of drifted off mid-planning, for days. I had to remind him to finish making a date with me. That hurt less because it’s less of a relationshippy situation.

But still, I’m having a hard time not freaking out about being forgettable. The calendar is my sun, moon, and stars and I would never forget ANYBODY, friend, lover, event or otherwise once they’re on there. Why can’t I find this in another person? Why do I consistently choose partners who don’t/can’t see me as part of their lives? Is there anything else out there for me besides having a hot but tiny role?

Mr. Sweetheart, if you get around to reading this, I hated being the negative part in what seemed like such a fun night. I absolutely fucking detest the idea of not having you in my life and I so wish that things had gone differently. But somewhere in me I need to find the belief that I deserve to not be forgotten.