:: flatch ::
Ah, Flatch. The sad thing about Flatch is that I really liked him and hadn't really liked anyone this much in a long time. But he dumped me so now I will make fun of him! Ha! I will have the last word, dammit!
I met Flatch on a blind date set up by a good friend from law school. We hit it off on the phone right away. We even suggested the same restaurant for our first date. He was cute, he was smart, he had career ambitions, he came from a nice family, he made me laugh, he shared my political views. He called the day after our first date. He brought me Pez on our second date. He took me salsa dancing. He took me to a jazz concert. Soon, we were talking everyday. We spent many hours in restaurants and coffee shops talking about our families, our ambitions, our hopes and dreams, blah, blah, blah. We went to the movies and cuddled like those disgusting couples hated by single people. He even called me while I was away over Thanksgiving to say that he was thinking about me. So I was totally into him. The one hitch was that he was applying to graduate school, but not in New York and was hoping to go to the Bay Area. A few days after our first date, I got laid off and was very sad. Since I had no job, I decided that I would move to California with him. I know I am too old and mature to fall for people like this, but shit, it happens anyway. But after Thanksgiving, he started pulling back a little. He was "busy" with his grad school applications and "busy" every night during the week and would only see me on weekends. I was trying to give him space and not be clingy so I didn't say anything. LESSON: If someone seems like they are blowing you off, they probably are. And you should deal with it. Flatch picked me up from a party one night in Cobble Hill in his car. I asked if his car had a name. "Flatch" he said. "Fletch?", I asked, thinking it must be his cheesy affection for the Chevy Chase movie. No, Flatch, as in flatulent. Oh. Apparently, he likes to fart in his car, and thinks farting is funny. I guess I think farting can be funny too, but not in the same way. I wouldn't wear it on my sleeve like that. Whatever, that sounds icky. I tried not to think about it. The Flatch thing didn't raise any red flags for me at the time, but maybe it should have. And he was not that good in bed. But I liked him so much, I was willing to train him! On what ended up being our last date, we hung out with my law school friend who set us up. I was going away that weekend, but before I left I sent him an email saying what a fun night it was and that, "needless to say, Jenny thought you were really cool, and so do I." Then no contact for several days. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore, and called him. Here is basically how our conversation went:
Me: Hey. (sounding mad)
F: (sounding guilty and distant) Hey, how are you? How was your weekend?
Me: Fine. Yours?
F: (sounding more guilty and more distant) Fine. Listen, I was totally going to call you tonight, but I lost track of time, and then I looked at the clock and it was already 11.
F: So, uh, I think we need to talk to talk about us.
Me: Yeah, I think we do.
F: Well, I've been really distracted the past week or so. My head's just not really there. [pause] You could probably tell.
Me: Yeah, I could. You know, you could have called me and told me that.
F: I know. I'm sorry you had to hunt me down like this.
Me: I didn't appreciate it.
F: I know. I'm sorry. [pause] So where are you with all of this?
Me: Well that doesn't really matter now, does it?
F: I guess not. .[pause] . . Listen, I just want to tell you, I think you're really great.
Me: (in disbelief that I was being blown off with the same line twice in a row) Whatever. [pause] Well, good luck with your applications and everything.
F: Yeah, good luck with