Loser at Love

Loser Mafia Hairdresser blog

Agh! I did it to myself. I gave way to much. I spent too much. I distracted myself away from my goals. And I was so mad at myself for repeating my own history that I hardly slept a wink last night so now my work day is going to be bunk. Dear readers, I will have to vent to you or I’ll have to go to therapy to re-hash what I already know: I’m a big fat loser at love.

Of course, for anyone who knows me: my social media clients, my hair clients, friends, family and all my Twitter Followers and Facebook Friends, I am newly single. Yup, after 5 years of “the healthiest” “bestest” “loving” relationship I’ve ever had, just one minute into our first couple’s therapy session ended that. Our councilor ask my significant-to-me-other if he would like to say anything before we got started and he said, “I’m over this relationship and I have been for a while and I want to move on.” Please don’t ask me if I didn’t see that one coming. No. The answer is no! I never see it coming. At least he broke up with me in-person and it wasn’t over the phone while I was working in a different country just one day before my fiance’ and me were supposed to meet for a big vacation and finalize our wedding. (I took the vacation by myself and you can read about that relationship in my second “novel,” The Glow Stick Gods.)

The point is that I must be starved for affection, or I’m needy or I’m just a horrible partner to have. Perhaps I have no radar for love? Obviously, it’s me and it’s always been me! I just don’t know what I’d do differently. I’m not going to look for the answers right now: This is venting. I told you that. My mental health — your expense.

So: this guy I know, “Dan” from Seattle, comes for a visit to Chicago for a convention. He’s a retired U.S. Army Vet who got a free ticket to the convention and a free hotel room and flight under a program provided to vets to upgrade their skills for career changes. I’m thinking, kewl, because I remembered we had nice little fling back in the 90’s and, from what I remembered, he was nice looking and the sex was okay. It had been six months since my break up and I have not been dating and I’m soooo not a one-night-stand guy and I’m too wary of those “dating” or “hookup apps,” so I thought his visit would be just what I needed to get back my game, sort of speak.

I cleared my schedule for only the first night he arrived and we met downtown Chicago for dinner. He wanted Chicago pizza so we went to the Pizanno’s, close to his hotel. It was only 4 pm in the afternoon on a Saturday so I had a martini with my pizza. He had a coke. Aside from him being way heavier than he used to be and that he didn’t have that “break the ice” special-occasion drink with me, he began to try to keep up his part of the conversation and failed miserably. I paid for dinner. I didn’t mind. Him: One Coke and half a pizza. Me: two martini + half a pizza = I won by numbing my ears to whatever he was saying.

Did I sleep with Dan? Yes. Was it okay? Yes. Would I ever want to again? NO! But the next night, after his first day of convention, he asked me to dinner again. I thought, how bad could it be? We go to my regular haunt, Ditka’s, and have the Pot Roast Nachos and I have the Tiger Roll. I only had one martini and that was because there was more speaking and I felt I needed a little bravery to inform him that I would not be sleeping with him ever again and that I would have to go home to do some work in my office. I needn’t have worried because he immediately got heartburn so he had to rush back to his hotel. It turns out that the ground pepper on his steak and the jalapeno peppers on the nachos were too spicy for him. Another sign. By the way, he did not buy me dinner, he just handed me a twenty dollar bill when the check came. I guess I should be okay with that, because that is nearly what his steak cost and, after all, I ordered the Pot Roast Nachos appetizer — to split.

I thought I’d never see Dan again but he called and seemed like he totally expected me to go out with him for dinner again last night so I went. He wanted Thai so we walked 25 minutes from his hotel only to find out that the good Thai place downtown was closed on Mondays. The reason we walked and he risked having a stroke (because he’s too fat) is because he was too cheap to pitch in for a cab. I’m fit and I like to walk but I was so mad and hungry once we found the restaurant closed that I hailed us a cab to Greek town for some good stick-to-your ribs food. This time he gets a drink, a girly Cosmo, and I match him on that one with my straight-up vodka and have a glass of wine to boot.  The bill comes, but only this time he doesn’t even reach for his wallet. Doesn’t budge.

I don’t think he ever knew that I was angry. Our 20 minute walk back to his hotel would have seemed pleasant. Once at his hotel, I told him I would be busy the next day and we said our goodbyes. There is so much I wish I could go back and do and say, or not do. I’m sure, if you’ve read this to the end, that you might have a lot to say. Feel free to comment. I’ll post it. But right now I’m just going to be angry at myself. I’m not going to look into myself and ask the hard questions. But yes, I totally see how this must be self-worth issue or a “deservedness thing.” I just don’t have the energy right now. I just don’t. I’m a loser at love and that’s all there is to it.

My Social Media Networks in One Place

Mad Hatter’s Tea

Mad Hatter’s Tea:
1 part 7up
1 part White Cranberry Juice
1 part White Wine
1 part Apple Pucker
1/2 part Blue Curaso
2 parts Absolut Vodka
Mix all together and Chill for 1 to 2 hours and serve shaken in martini shaker with ice: straight-up in martini glasses.
Please order your copy of Mafia Hairdresser, the novel about my life as a hairdresser to a mob couple in the 80’s, and subscribe to this blog!