Kiki looks into escape artists

At 24, Tinder wasn’t around yet, but MySpace served its purpose by introducing us to people we might never have met otherwise—acting as a crude dating app before dating apps were even a thing.

John “slid into my DMs” (as we’d say now) and started messaging me. He was incredibly attractive and had two different colored eyes. He also had sparrow tattoos, which in hindsight was a sure sign things were going to go south, but I was young thought they were the coolest. After exchanging several messages, we realized we lived in the same city. Since MySpace didn’t have location services back then, finding someone in the same area code was never a guarantee.

We decided to meet in person at a local bar. Because I didn’t have a cell phone yet, location sharing with friends wasn’t an option; just taking my life into my own hands and hoping for the best.

When I arrived, John was just as good-looking as his photos, but he was a talker. For two and a half hours straight, he droned on and on. I honestly couldn’t tell you what he talked about because it was years ago and I’m certain I dissociated several times while he spoke. Occasionally, he’d realize he was dominating the conversation and try to ask me a question, but the moment I started to answer, it reminded him of something else about himself; so he’d interrupt and go right back to talking.

By hour three, I was done. I excused myself to the restroom. I was too young to know it was okay to just leave a date someone a date plus we were sitting too close to the exit for me to sneak past him unnoticed.

I had only one option: I literally climbed out of the bathroom window. As I’m telling this story, I realize I must have spent a significant portion of my 20s climbing out of windows into back alleys.**

It was a tight squeeze, but it was still better than the alternative of walking back to that table.

** shout out to the alleged drug dealer who taught me to jump out windows though

Kiki looks into casual

When I like someone, everyone else seems boring. Trying to date and be casual with TeamThirtyThree (yes, he’s back in the picture) is proving much harder than expected. It’s not because I’m in love with him—I don’t think—or because it’s that serious. But in comparison, everyone else I try to talk to just comes up short.

It’s not their fault. I’m sure that if I had met them outside the context of TeamThirtyThree, they would have been perfectly fine. But with him in the viewfinder, everyone else just seems to lack texture.

I don’t like their voice. Their stories seem lame. And I have yet to meet someone as funny as him. I just can’t be bothered.

My logical side knows that this isn’t actually true—not everyone is boring or has a stupid voice—but right now, as I try to balance casual dating (something I’m clearly not very good at), TeamThirtyThree’s qualities seem to outweigh everyone else’s.

And more importantly, I don’t feel like being whimsical with other people.

Maybe that’s just what happens when I open the door, even just a little, and let someone in. It crowds the doorway for anyone else.

TeamThirtyThree has raised the bar without even trying. And now everyone else is unfairly measured against a standard I won’t let them reach.

Kiki looks into her own choices

“It’s the hope that kills you.” — Marian Keyes

In more than twenty years of dating, I have never been chosen. Wanted, yes. Lusted over, definitely. Maybe even loved once. But never chosen.

There was always something else: an ex, a new distraction, alcohol, drugs, unfinished business. And I was left circling the edges, the almost, the maybe. Convenience. Set aside when something shinier appeared. Being picked up only when it suits someone else is a different kind of abandonment. A quiet repeated discarding. I was the charging port- the place someone plugged into when they needed to be seen, loved, or to escape the shittiest parts of their lives for that moment. Only to be disconnected when they felt restored. My significance to them only measured by my usefulness.

It has taken me a long time to understand why I kept staring at closed doors. It wasn’t confusion or blindness. Probably a little bit of stupidity but mostly a lot of hope. Hope that one day I would be seen too. Hope that this time I would be chosen.

But at this point I am tired of waiting for footsteps that never come.

Kiki looks into comebacks

The swiftness with which men can almost sense when one may be trying someone new needs to be studied. Is there some kind of bat signal that alerts them the moment one may be emotionally detaching? Because how, how? In the middle of attempting midnight moving on with someone else did TeamThirtyThree know to text me to see if I was free.

Many a weekend and weekday have passed where he could have reached out but he remained silent. Instead he chose the exact moment before I hit the send button on a text to another person to come tapa tap tapping through my phone.

And he is not alone in this knowledge or timing for that matter. Recently my ex, whom I have not heard from in months, decided he too would like to reach out to see if I’m still stupid. I can not say that I’m not. It’s strange how easy it would have been to fall into old habits, but TeamThirtyThree rewired my brain and I cannot accept someone who is not openly excited about me any longer. When I saw my ex’s name on my phone I was more annoyed than elated or flattered- that would have never happened had it been a few months earlier. And even though I picked up, my heart was no longer in it. The heart flutters, the excitement, the nerves they were all gone replaced instead with just this strange indifference. In the halting conversation where we tried to find things to say to each other I realized I was over him like really over him.

Now on the other side of this break up with my ex I know I am angry at myself in so many ways – for what I put up with what I allowed, but as I am wrangling with those feelings I am also at odds with how I feel about TeamThirtyThree who was a safe place with an end date. Was his late night comeback just another version of the half in half out he taught me not to accept. Another disappointment in the making? Maybe because as Brandy once said “almost doesn’t count.”

Kiki looks into first impressions

You never get a second chance to make a first impression or however the saying goes; but, dating apps and the dates that follow really are a series of first impressions. The people texting may end up being duds in person, and duds in texting may end up being the one, because on dating apps there is the online impression and the in person one, both of which are really just first impressions of the same person.

I have had a series of unfortunate events in the first impression department with as many first dates as I have been on. Below is just a smattering of that.

First up was the man who, when I walked in, had such a blue backlight that I did not recognize him, and he did not stand up or approach me. So we sat staring, me confused about whether that was my date and him seemingly nonchalant. When I called to see if that was him, he did not pick up the phone, so we stared for a good seven minutes before I walked up to him and asked, “Do we know each other?” to which he replied, “Not really.” Anyway, that actually was my date.

Then there was the man who was a great texter, so funny. He seemed very worldly and well traveled and had such great stories. Our first date would have gone better had he not had a curfew earlier than my four year old niece. It turns out he was on probation. And all those stories: books and movies he had read or seen.

The date that never showed up but texted later to see how I was. Now, did I ask him if he fist fought his mom based on some inclination I had? Yes. But if he was so offended, maybe he should have said something so I did not drive forty four minutes on a Sunday for a date that he knew he was not going to come to.

I have had a total of three dates who lied miserably about their height, all hovering around 5’8″ or 5’9″ on the profile and 5’2″ or 5’3″ in real life. One man believed his own lie so much so that when I called him out he insisted he really was 5’9″. He said this all while looking almost directly in my eyes. For reference, I am 5 feet.

There was of course the man who used pictures from his glory days and then showed up not at all in his glory days.

One man spoke incessantly about his ex. I finally asked if, were she to call, would he leave this date immediately. He did not say no to this question.

There was the man who took me to a baseball game and kept explaining the game to me while emphasizing that the pitcher was the position he had played. For some reason it bothered him when I asked if the pitcher we were watching was better than him since he was on the field while we were in the stands.

Numerous dates whether in person or on line have felt the need to discuss their sexual proclivities or make the most offensive references out the gate, some using emojis as if that would somehow make it less vile; but there is just something about having to solve a Pictionary style sentence of sexual innuendo that just makes it worse.

And of course the date who made reservations, texted me the reservations, but at the last minute decided to cancel and told me word for word, “Do not bother going to the restaurant I will not be there and I cancelled the reservation I made.” I am not one to leave things alone or be told what to do, so I showed up anyway. He had taken someone else.

Although none of these men were ‘the one’ they definitely were someone.

Kiki looks into dating… that’s it just trying to date

Dating as a broken person is daunting. Not only are the dates often ridiculous, but I have less patience than I used to. I’m tired in a way that doesn’t show on dating profiles, and that exhaustion makes everything feel like tiny paper cuts on my soul: painful for such innocuous marks.

Recently, I went on a date with a man who turned out to have very, very different views from mine, though none of that came out until we were already face to face.

Don’s profile wasn’t sketchy. There were no obvious red flags or clues suggesting he’d turn out to be an absolute a-hole. Did he have of a “bro” vibe, sure; but, was he also from the East Coast, yes- which is why this didn’t quite line up. When we messaged on the app, things flowed easily enough that we exchanged numbers quickly and texted as if we had been good friends for a while and still nothing alarming came up.

There was one small thing we didn’t agree on, musical artists, but it seemed harmless at the time. Just one of those hmmmm differences I file away and move on from. I didn’t know then that it would end up meaning more.

The day of the date, we met for ice cream and decided to walk around the cute downtown area nearby. It should’ve been easy. Casual. Like I said above two old friends catching up seeing if there might be more. Instead, he decided this was the perfect moment to unload all of his strange relationship predilections. I told him it was too early for that kind of conversation, but he kept pushing. Each comment edged a little closer to subjects I’d asked to be avoided, until I finally had to change the conversation altogether.

At the time, I wondered if I was just annoyed at being out with someone new, someone who wasn’t my ex. This was one of my first dates since the “breakup,” for lack of a better word. Was this actually weird behavior, or , was I just projecting my sadness? It was hard to tell.

But as he kept talking and then mocking me I realized I wasn’t wrong at all. It was in fact intentional, inappropriate border line foul behavior. He was openly supportive of current policies supporting everything I abhor and he wouldn’t let it go. He just kept pushing. At one point we tipped into the absolute abhorrent and very much engaged in an actual shouting match about language, current events, and yes musical artists.

I think my anger and the urge to absolutely demolish a man with all the rage I’d bottled up during my relationship kept me rooted there, shouting back. The fact that we didn’t physically tussle was honestly surprising. But the moment I realized I was on the verge of a fist fight with a grown man, I snapped back to reality: I have a pace maker now and can’t be swinging but there was a time.

I shoved my chair back and stormed off. It would be another month before I considered going on a date.

Kiki looks into intermittent fasting

I intermittent fasted on a date once (not on purpose or anything), but because my date had “made it clear,” apparently, that we were only having drinks.

I matched with Hugh, and we exchanged sporadic messages in the app. I didn’t think it would lead anywhere and was preparing to move on. However, almost at the exact moment I was getting ready to delete the match, as though he had somehow caught wind of this ship-jumping, he asked me out and even planned the day and time. He also did a great job checking in leading up to the date to make sure we were still on. This may seem like an innocuous detail, but anyone dating now will tell you: if they don’t check in, at least day of, that date is not happening. That small gesture buoyed my hopes things would go well.

I arrived before him at a bustling restaurant, where a crowd hovered near the host stand waiting to be seated. I slipped into the bar section and noticed a couple gathering their things. I slid in after them, but the bartender shut it down immediately: that section was closing, he said. Then, as if on cue, another couple offered up their seats and with a menu still on the table! I scanned through the hefty pages until Hugh finally arrived. The restaurant was still churning, so the plates from the previous diners remained untouched. After deciding on my meal, I handed the menu to my date thinking we would at least get a snack. It was in that moment that he looked me straight in the eyes and said, very distinctly, “I thought I made it clear we were only meeting for drinks.”

That was in that instant I decided I would be leaving as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, the Fates had other plans for me. When the server eventually came by to clear the plates, he offered us a bread basket. My date again declined, though he did order himself a drink. I stuck with water, already plotting my escape.

Because of the rush of customers, our drinks took forever to arrive. So there I sat, listening to a man’s life story with not even a crumb of bread to distract me from what had become my loud, growling stomach.

When the drinks finally appeared, Hugh sipped slowly and kept talking. I committed fully to what had now clearly become a water fast. At some point he paused, but I barely noticed. I was too busy watching plates pass by salivating at other people’s meals. When he finally asked me a few questions, I answered halfheartedly, my attention completely hijacked by the cakes circling through the room.

Once the drinks were gone, I ended the date, not because of anything he said, but because I was starting to worry I’d lose consciousness trying to make it to my car. Drive through after a bust of a date just hits different.

Kiki looks into trying again

Two years ago I stopped writing. Not because I met someone and had my happily ever after, quite the opposite actually. Even as I sit here and try to find the words for this on and off relationshit, I am not entirely sure I am ready to write again let alone enter the dating world. Given the last few attempts I’ve had: including actively trying not to cry because they are not Ryan, feeling like I am somehow cheating even though we haven’t spoken or seen each other in months, and one particularly eventful date where I almost fought a grown man (but for other reasons) I am not sure the dating world is ready for me to enter it either. So I think this blog may become a mix of ‘healing journey’ testimony and the dates along the way. It definitely can no longer have a Narnia theme. Narnia ended joyfully for the children and the land. I cannot currently even fathom everything working out in the end; so this may just become a stream of consciousness catharsis where I work myself back to a semblance of myself before we met.

Kiki looks into unexpected heartbreak

You let somebody in, you know? And then, you make room. Then they go. And yeah, the room’s still there. ~ Sam Sylvia

When Mr. Tumnus the faun saw Lucy for the first time and learned what she was, he made up his mind to kidnap her and bring her to the witch. After getting to know her though he let her escape rather than fall victim to the majesty’s wrath (telling Lucy outright of his previous plan and then helping her to safety). In many ways, I wish people in the dating world were like that: just brutally honest about their intentions so, like Lucy, we could escape with all pieces of ourselves and faith intact. But if that were the case this blog would not exist.

Like Lucy meeting a talking faun, meeting Ryan jarred me. He made me nervous from the beginning. He was open and vulnerable, something most people in LA avoided. He talked about a variety of subjects and was so articulate about them, his experiences within them, and their connection to the collective that any time I spoke I felt like I was that man I went on a date with that talked for an hour plus about his protein intake- just absolute dribble.

Despite my nervousness and own feelings of being off kilter anytime I was around him, Ryan still seemed to want to see me and more importantly talk with me. We made plan after plan to see each other. The anxiousness was always there, but so was reassurance that I was not, in fact, as ridiculous I believed. And like I do when I am interested in someone I make room for them, blindly believing in their goodness. Like Lucy trusting a talking faun with no rhyme or reason, I trusted Ryan.

The whole of the story of Narnia took place over a longer period of time than our dating did, and regardless of the small window , I still managed to get my heart chipped. I won’t know if my ridiculousness, my overthinking, or the tangible fact that I could never quite be all of myself is what did it; but, what I do know is that I made a space for someone and that space remained after they left.

Kiki looks into dating internationally- locally

Although I have been bamboozled a few times by my own people I keep trying to date them, similar to how Edmund knows deep down the queen is bad but just convinces himself she may not be so keeps going back to find her. I am just going to take a minute and revisit going out with my own people which happened not too far in the past.

I had a very interesting date with a man who claimed to also be Greek. Nick was not very communicative by text when we matched and I did call him out on it- nothing changed, so I guess he had the Greek stubbornness down pat. Regardless, we set up a date locally, and we haltingly continued to talk about our common interest- being Greek.

The day of the date I showed up to the restaurant after he did- I was not late, but he had actually gotten there a little early and had the waitress seat him- very unGreek of him. When I asked him where he was sitting instead of telling me where he instructed me to ask the waitress to take me back to him like he was a king of some kind. He did not even offer to come out and meet me at the front of the restaurant. I let the hostess know my party was seated and proceeded to wander the establishment looking for a person I was supposed to recognize from some vague pictures. I knew it was gonna be bad.

When I finally did locate him he stood up and hugged me. It was a very awkward side hug then he sat himself right down, looked me square in the my eyes and with a straight face said, “You are so lucky to be here with me.” That sounded very Greek, but that’s where the commonality ended and it was downhill from there. I could not keep my mouth shut so responded with: “Why would you have that thought and then say it out loud?” He made a wide sweep with his arms seemingly pointing out the restaurant but remained silent expecting me to know what he meant. I just continued to stare at him at which time he filled the silence by telling me he “knew the manager and his friend was part owner” As a note a.) we were not in LA for this to happen and b.) that’s not a personality trait for me to value.

This exchange was quickly interrupted when the waitress brought us each a glass of champagne- he had “taken the liberty of ordering me a drink” but had never asked if I even drank – I don’t. He was upset to find this out. Before he could say anything else, we were brought some kind of amuse bouche. When I asked what it was or what he ordered, instead of telling me he really doubled down on me being lucky to be there with him and replied that: “it was specially made for us.” “From the kitchen,” he continued. I expressed concern as to where our other food orders would be made from but he didn’t get my joke.

Conversation from there on was fairly stilted. We did not see eye to eye on any subject, and as it turned out, he had just broken up with somebody a few days previous. When I said that it was surprising he was dating so soon after he’d broken up with somebody, he did not see why it was “my business as to his dating timeline. ” Then when I was asking him seemingly normal first date questions, i.e. what brought him to California from his home state he stated that-”it was a traumatic event” and I “shouldn’t be asking those types of questions.” To which I spit out, “please learn to lie because that’s a normal question to ask on a date.” It was a very quiet dinner after that.

I guess dating Greek or part Greeks is not in the cards for me. As Edmund and I learned, one should always trust their instincts even in the face of food and drinks.