Dating Diary X


You know when you’re not really hungry, but could eat?
So you grab a snack ---Just a little nibble to pass the time, to fill empty space.
Not bad for you – or good for you either. Neither nutritional or toxic,
Like Pirates Booty, if you will. Below. Bon Appetit.

He followed me on Instagram. His face felt familiar, so I slid into his DM’s, “Hey Stranger.”

See my boredom breeds trouble. Snack time. We met for a drink a week or so later, post travels, laughed lightly about life and he walked me home. One whiskey and I’m frisky. I waited for him to kiss me, But I don’t wait very long. I kissed him. Harmless. A snack. I could tell he liked a challenge. And my boredom needed a project. Game on.

We met at in Austin two weeks later. I was teaching at SXSW + He was there on business. My pink silk slip sticking to my skin, the humid heat just as thick as the uncertain energy. He was nervous. I was not. cold martinis to break the ice, dinner before diving head first into eachothers faces at a dark bar with loud music. I resisted the urge to indulge in him as dessert, instead opting for self-respect + chocolate from my minibar upstairs. Too soon.

I woke up and ran 6 miles in the Austin sauna before teaching box + flow and flirted with him via text all day. I was living – he was working – it felt familiar. I usually date unavailable men. No matter, I don’t need another to have fun. I lingered over local beers poolside, vintage shopped for treasures and indulged in a candy store longer than a football field. Not lonely but lonesome. Fun is more fun with someone. It wasn’t him. Snacks aren’t forever.

He invited me to meet his employees that eve. We were crushing. I was giddy. But sure enough I lost myself in different fun, deep conversation and rose champagne on the Four Seasons lawn well after 8pm. Oops. Return to hotel to rinse off, zip up my Wranglers for my late night snack. When I arrived at 10:30 he was already leaving. I sensed a bit of defeat from his bravado drenched ego, but I knew he liked a chase. I made up for it over tequila shots + danced till dawn at a drag party across town. We split ways and I stumbled home to cheese crackers and sparkling water to soak up my sins. And sent him something sexy to make sure he kept thinking of me before bed. Lights out.

I hauled myself back to NYC with a twinkle in my eye + the thrill of a spark. But we were strangers, really. He was moonlighting on the west coast + travelling often. He asked me to meet him 10 days later-- less about me and more about him having company wherever he was. Vacationing not to enjoy, but to escape his reality. Unable to appreciate the present moment, not because he didn’t want to but rather didn’t know how. Note to self: it is not your job to teach him! My dad married my mom when he was 40. He’s made mention of trips or dinners in his younger days with women, snacks who filled space, time—just for company, until he met my mom. Makes sense. I like snacks too. But what is the purpose of company if you can’t enjoy the moment? Better off alone, no?

Date 4 was in Wine Country. 4 days in Sonoma sounds more intense than a snack, but I like intense> the bigger challenge was keeping it in perspective. If he was my snack. I was his. Olivia, don’t let emotions or delusions get ahead of you. Keep it simple.

We met in San Francisco. If my trip there was of any warning what was to come, I should have paid closer attention. I sauntered off the plane ready for a sexy San Fran rendezvous. And simultaneously fell right onto my face. Bags flying, blood gushing thru my now ripped knee cap + jeans. Fight attendants flying over to check in. It seemed more extreme than it was. Perspective. I dusted myself off and hailed a Lyft, to the wrong hotel. No worries. Made it just in time for Dinner at Angler. Perfect martinis. Pristine food. Curious hands to accompany curious enough conversation. Back to the hotel with bottled up anticipation. I let him slip off my slip dress and take it from there. I take control of my life. I don’t mind being controlled behind closed doors. A month of flirtatious foreplay climaxed even before I blinked twice. “You’re really good at sex.” Was the response. I laughed. Glad he enjoyed it. I was just getting started + he was already sleeping. Snacks don’t last long. And I have that BDE. Yes, is a gender-neutral term. I call it BPE though. Big pelvis energy. When you practice yoga daily, you know your pelvis. I know my pelvis. He noticed.

My BPE woke me up the next morning. So I woke him up. He reluctantly obliged but I had to even the playing field. So I did. I wasn’t about to settle for a one-sided weekend. Pleasure is a two way street. Some guys are weird about morning kisses. It doesn’t bother me. I like raw + real but my fantasy of a sex filled romp thru the vineyards on the west coast was the wrong fantasy. Olivia, lose the expectation. We got out of bed for a six-mile run over the golden gate bridge. If it wasn’t going to be sex, I needed something to take my breath away - sprinting in the clouds sufficed. To be fair: we were strangers. Unsure if we even liked each other or not. But hey, it’s only awkward if you make it awkward. And me and my pelvis do not like awkward.

Arrive Sonoma: a sprawling home atop acres of vineyards, enough bedrooms for a soccer team and a kitchen I could cook Harry Potter Hall Feasts in --- I mentioned staying in one eve and doing just that. He firmly asked that we stick to his plan. If I’m the flow. He was fight. I agreed to go with his flow. And his plans were more than gracious. We Vineyard hopped day one but my low alcohol tolerance awoke my insecurity. “You know that Shania Twain song? That don’t impress me much.” I actually said that—to him. SMH. See, Early on he reminded me of an ex –laser focused on work + overcompensating for his unavailability by placating with things – gift, trips, money. Kind but competitive, with mischief hiding behind untrustworthy eyes. My comment wasn’t out of malice, more so out of care. See I love nice things. But they don’t make up for half-truths, or lack of interest, subpar sex, or surface conversation. Harsh perhaps, but I was protecting or rather, projecting my fear. Second night in + honeymoon period over. He opted for Forest Gump instead of sex. I went to sleep.

Next morning, he had work but agreed to a vineyard yoga session before conference calls. I held his body in my hands as I coached him to integrate his muscles to his bones, connect to his core, and find presence thru his breath. He trembled as beads of sweat ran down his spine, me holding him up as he let himself go. Life in real time. I crave that intensity and wanted to capture the perfect moment with passion by the pool. But 9am conference call rang clear. I let him go and found my own feelings running thru the mountains. I poured my remaining passion into breakfast – turned leftovers into a kale, short rib + French fry frittata. I watched him devour my craft instead of devouring me.

The masseuse arrived at the home. I requested deep tissue. Snacks do not go deep. After massages we ventured into town for tacos, beer, and tough questions—His turn to take a shot at me. “Why aren’t you raising money? Moving faster? Sell your brand!” Business is business. I get it. But in that moment, I felt judged for what I wasn’t doing as opposed to seen for what I was. My passion is my value. I realized again What I knew all along. We all value ourselves differently. I value myself thru human capital. He values thru monetary wealth. Fabulous. I love money. We don’t need to value ourselves the same, but we have to appreciate the others’ value. It got heated. I was hurt. I’d have chosen to take it out on top of each other. Instead, we went to sleep.

The house was so quiet the next morning, awkward silence eased after a morning hike with surfaced conversation before heading to airport. he insisted on making me breakfast. Either out of his need to be in control, or his want to create. regardless, I loved it. He had never cooked before, his internal control freak relaxed – much like when he flowed in my hands the previous day. I watched him connect to the present as he cooked and created methodically but with ease -- opening up just in time to head out. At the airport we kissed and parted ways. I had no idea whether id speak to him again or not. And no idea if I cared.

He texted the next day. I thanked him. He thanked me for all the things he learned. That made me happy. But I can’t be everyone’s teacher. I should have cut it off there. But I get off on progress + potential. as he leaned in, I leaned back. Heavy texting ensued instilling false hope. Perspective Olivia. If he is your snack, you are his too. snacks don’t last long.

But expectations were formed.

Sporadic communication had me frustrated. We connected two weeks later. My ego intervened. And I was empowered to achieve clarity. Over martinis at a storied NYC establishment I said, “I can’t decide whether you’re a a fuck boy or a man.” He was taken aback. I called his bluff. We laughed before subpar sex + a sleepover. Sweet cuddles too. Glimmers of good but nothing sustainable. A Fuck boy for sure. Lots of plans + little follow thru. My expectation left me disappointed.
Snack time was getting salty.
Perspective Olivia. This isn’t your heart. It’s your ego. Let go.

He sporadically decided to lean in, again. He would take a 5am train from Long Island to make my @boxandflow class. Sharing my passion is important. When a guy shows up, it shows. At 130am that morning he texted that he was on his third slice of joe’s pizza and was excited to see me. OK slim shady -- Joes is on West 4th Street, not Long Island.

But I stopped caring about his lies, because I had already lost interest in his truth. So, I made mockery of it – called him out, kept moving forward. He showed up though. And so did I. He would be sore for some time. I go deep. I was bored of the back + forth. The one-sided sex. The unpredictable communication and the white lies. But I held onto his potential and after class gave him a choice, “Do you want to get to know each other? We’ve been playing ping pong for months. Clarity is something I crave. Nothing serious. It would take effort on both parts. So, do we want to get to know each other or not?” HE replied, yes, I like that plan. Me: “Great – you want to get to know me. I want to get to know you. Now it just comes down to execution.”

We texted all day. He was heading to NOLA that eve. “I should be back Friday eve. If so, let’s have dinner Saturday.” I would wait to hear from him. I did. 3 weeks later. – a text, “yo – I feel bad for not reaching out sooner…” I didn’t respond. because I didn’t feel bad. There was no emotion around it for me. The sex wasn’t good enough to miss. The half truths were harmless. And the connection was for a moment in time at a dark bar in Austin fueled by martinis and founded on nothing more than surfaced feelings. A deep heart but not yet capable of deep connection. But nothing ventured nothing gained. My ego created false expectation. I don’t value myself on things but I certainly got lost in the “idea of him.” He was my project, I was his challenge. We were snacking to fill time. And while I love a good snack when I’m bored, salty, crunchy, sweet to fill space, I’d rather linger over a long meal that I can sink my teeth into + savor.

Olivia, enough boys… cowboys + fuck boys. Find yourself a man.
The only question that remains is – what is this empty you’re attempting to fill?

Olvia YoungComment