Jerry: Iceberg, Right Ahead

If you missed Part 1 of the Jerry saga: Jerry: The Maiden Voyage

Soon after my first date with Jerry, he texted asking if I’d like to come over and he would make me dinner.  First thought: awww.  Second thought: nice try, but even as much as I like you, I’m not going over to your place for the second date.  Why?  Well:

  1. Jerry didn’t seem like a murderer, but what did I actually know about this guy?
  2. Offering to cook for me on a second date seems like a total move.  He woos the ladies with the fact that he’s handy in the kitchen and then immediately gets them into his bed for sexy sexy time.  Even if that did sound kind of fun, I wasn’t just looking for a hookup.  And sure, hooking up on the second date doesn’t necessarily make you “just a hookup,” but I knew if I went over, we banged, and I never heard from him again…I’d end up feeling crappy about myself.
  3. Ted’s first rule was the first three dates should be public.  I wasn’t living by these rules, but I definitely had them in the back of my mind.

I let Jerry know that I haven’t decided if he’s an ax murderer yet, and ask if we can grab dinner or drinks instead.  If he had whined at all about my hesitance over being alone with him, I would’ve defaulted to #1 he’s a murderer, and said #ByeFelicia.  But Jerry is understanding and suggests a bar near his house.  I understand this to be a subtle, “it’ll be convenient to go back to my place afterwards if you’re willing,” and decide that just may happen depending on whether all is going well.

Later that night, all is going better than well.  Conversation is flowing easily, and eventually Drunk Brain takes the wheel and decides it would be hilarious to tell Jerry he looks/acts a bit like my old history professor.  This gets us on the topic of WWII, which leads to me finding out that not only does Jerry listen to the same nerdy history podcast that I do, but he also looooooooves Tom Hanks.  (I feel like Jerry would probably say that he loves Tom Hanks while I am the one who looooooooves him, but who are you gonna believe? Right — me.)  I guiltily admit that despite my massive love for both TH and WWII, I’ve never seen Band of Brothers.  Jerry says we should probably go to his place and watch the first episode RIGHT AWAY.  Even Sober Brain agrees that while we could’ve said no to a regular invitation back to his place (three entirely public dates was the goal!), saying no to a handsome man who wants to watch a war miniseries directed by one of the best humans on the planet with you would be ludicrous.

Jerry doesn’t try and make a move on me through the entire episode, and consequently, my opinion of him soars through the fricken roof.  I hate when a guy knows you really want to watch something, and five minutes in, his hand is down your pants.  That said, we spend half of the episode tracing slow lines up and down each other’s arms/hands/wrists, and once it’s done we launch into what was probably the hottest make-out-session-that-did-not-end-in-sex that I’ve ever participated in.  I say probably and not definitely only because I’m not sure if our make out sessions on dates three or four were hotter.  Regardless — win, place, and show go to Jerry.

Our fifth date takes a while to happen.  Jerry is busy two weekends in a row.  I’m not an irrational monster, so I understand people get busy, but the fact that he doesn’t text me very often starts to make me a bit anxious.  I remind myself that back before texting, adults didn’t call a person they’d only been on four dates with every day to talk on the phone — that would be creepy.   Just because we have the ability to be in constant communication these days doesn’t mean we have to be, right?  He can still legit want to see me again even if he doesn’t respond to a text for several days, right?  Some people are bad texters!  I do a (mostly) good job of not overthinking his lack of texts and eventually we do go out again — as always, it’s a good time.

Sixth date happens on a Friday.  My work lets out at noon on Fridays, and my friends decide we need to go get afternoon drinks.  After going back and forth about whether inviting Jerry out with my friends is “too soon,” I decide day drinking in the summer is fun, and my friends are cool, so if me inviting him scares him off, well then his loss.  Jerry isn’t scared.  He comes, and before long we’ve snatched my friend’s phone and are passing it around the table in a group effort to see how many dick pics we can get via Tinder.  I should probably be a little worried that our childish antics will horrify the guy I’m interested in who is meeting my friends for the first time, but I’m not.  Why?  Well, it may be because I’m a total lightweight and we did a round of pickleback shots after I’d already downed 1.5 cans of beer.  However, it is mostly because whenever I am inclined to lean over and apologize for my dick-pic-collecting friends, Jerry is giggling to himself while typing out another ridiculous response to our next Tinder victim.   Clearly his maturity level is right where I want it to be — high enough to pass as an adult, but low enough to secretly enjoy soliciting pictures of penises while in public on a weekday.

One of my favorite parts of the afternoon is after we do yet another shot.  I go to the bathroom and, as I concentrate on walking as if I’m not on an unsteady boat, I think how in the hell am I going to finish the other half of my second beer?? If I drink anything else I am going to pass tipsy, collect $200, and be entirely drunk.  When I sit back down at our table, I dutifully reach for the can and realize it’s empty.  Jerry gives me a look and I say (maybe I slur…), “Did you do this for me?!”  He smiles, saying, “It seemed like the responsible thing to do.”  I silently agree and also silently really like that he’s looking out for me — or at least for my sobriety.

The group eventually disbands (note that my friend whose phone we used continued getting messages with more dick pics for days!) and Jerry and I go to his place.  You know what we did.  Afterwards, I start getting anxious.  Not because of what we did or how it went — duh, it was hot. We’re so hot.

I know he has friends coming to town later in the evening, though I’m not sure what time.  If it’s soon, I feel like I should offer to leave, because I don’t want to be that girl who won’t fricken leave.  But if it isn’t soon and he wants to hang out longer, I totally want to hang out longer.  Maybe I should ask if he wants me to leave?  Is that weird?  That seems kind of weird.  Why am I being so weird!!  He’s also being really quiet.  Is he being normal post-sex-I-am-resting-because-cuddling-is-nice quiet or is he being weird quiet because he wants me to leave and I won’t fucking leave?  I’m not sure.  Logically I know that I can’t be sure because unfortunately I can’t read minds — believe me, I’ve tried so hard — so in an effort to distract myself from my inner worryfest, I start talking (read: I probably start rambling).

Eventually the universe takes mercy on me, and Jerry’s friends call him: they’ve arrived.  He goes to pick them up and I head home.  As I sit on the subway, I can’t keep from texting my friend one thing: Ugh, I really like this guy.

Jerry and I text the next morning (Saturday), and later that night I say, “How was the rest of your day?”  No response. I don’t think much of it at first.  He’s with friends, and even I occasionally read a text and then forget about it.  However, by Thursday I’m annoyed.  Even if he forgot about the text, and even if he hasn’t been able to hang out, it’s been five days.  He hasn’t wanted to say a single thing to me?  I give him the benefit of the doubt, thinking maybe at first he forgot to respond and now he feels too awkward since it’s been a few days.  I shoot him a simple, “Any fun weekend plans?”  He doesn’t respond about weekend plans.

I’m officially being ghosted by Jerry.  Y’all know I hate ghosting based on my rant in my last post.  I was now two for two being ghosted by Bumble boys.  The worst part was that Jerry did not seem like the type to ghost someone.  My gut had told me he was a nice person, but nice people don’t ghost, so my gut was wrong. I hate when my gut is wrong!

Ghosting blows because saying you aren’t interested in dating someone doesn’t have to be a big deal.  Sure, saying “I don’t like you” seems mean, so you’d rather avoid it, but unless the person is CRAZY, what are you afraid they’re going to do?  I personally am an adult, and I understand that not every person on the planet wants to date me — I’m totally at peace with that knowledge.  Being ghosted makes me feel like the ghoster thinks I’m a “crazy girl” who will go batshit over them not wanting to see me again.  Newsflash: unless, “Thanks for letting me know.  It was nice getting to know you,” is going batshit, you’ve got nothing to worry about.

The following Wednesday (it’s now been twelve days since I’ve heard from him), I am not getting any less pissed.  My friends are not helping my anger subside, as they agree he’s a butthead :

Most people would say Fuck this dude! and move along.  I definitely did say Fuck this dude!, and I definitely did not have much interest in someone who wasn’t able to take ten seconds out of his day to treat me with a pinch of respect.  I mean, call me old-fashioned, but once you’ve been inside someone a couple times, I think you can spare ten seconds of your life to say, “Sorry, I won’t be entering you again.”  However, even considering my anger, letting things end without any sort of closure wasn’t going to feel good to me.  I knew that sending one last message would probably make me look desperate/nuts/stupid (choose your adjective), but ultimately I told myself If this is going to make you feel better about moving forward, then who the hell cares what Jackass Jerry thinks?

My final text :  Not sure if you’ve been super busy or aren’t interested in hanging out again.  If the former, I’ve enjoyed spending time with you, so let me know if your schedule frees up – even if you’d rather just be friends.  

When I told J what I had written, she scolded me for going easy on him.  My response:

The Jerry boat’s hull was slowly tipping up toward the sky as it sank into the cold dark waters of the dating pool.  Would there be any survivors?  I’ll fill you in next time.

With love, B!

P.S. I had this conversation with a coworker today, and it’s incredibly timely:

3 thoughts on “Jerry: Iceberg, Right Ahead

  1. Pingback: Jerry: The Ghost Ship Resurfaces | Date Like a Champion

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