#dateriots

[thedateriots]

West Coast Wednesday

Date Night

Love, West Coast

[thedateriots]

The Freedom

I just moved to LA. Among the things I’m wondering:

When will I meet someone nice and cool and everything that I’m meant to be with?

How often do I have to work out to look like these people?

Did I miss packing anything?

WHERE IS MY BLACK MINI SKIRT

Woah. Life.

How much weed would generate the perfect balance between reality and enlightenment?

How great is this tan I’m getting?

So far I’ve seen all of the hot people. If I get the chance to date one, that’d be dope. While I’m waiting to meet Mr. Spiritual with a tanned surfer coolness and eyes that sparkle when he engages in witty banter, I can maybe sort out my feelings about the dude I left back home. He is very attractive and treated me nicely and only did stupid things once in a while, which is a plus. He doesn’t always follow me intellectually but he is really sweet and was a fabulous hookup buddy until we began feeling attached. Oops. But distance makes muddy things clearer, and he was great for me then, but now it’s time to move on to a new person and a new adventure. If only I could let him go.

  He was my first lover. Previously there were plenty of hookups and pining for people I couldn’t have and misadventures in likes and dislikes, but I finally had an experience in which I felt casual, sexually alive, and nurtured. I value the time we had together, but it can’t continue. I have different needs here, and need to focus on expanding my horizons. At least, I will, once he stops texting me.

  Attention is like a drug. You don’t think you want it, but go a few days without it, and you’re itching for a flattering glance or a hinting smile. Texting this boy is the same feeling: if he’s coming on too strong, I back off. But the longer I go without texting him, the more I have to cope with the thought, “What if we don’t talk again? Is this it?” Because even though we both know this can’t work, I don’t want whatever this is to dwindle off into nothingness. I hate that.

  I had spent the last (three) night(s) before leaving at his apartment, and we only hooked up once. The other two nights, he just held me. It was an energy of feeding from the sweetness of the present, fragile as it was. The morning I left, I had planned to say goodbye to him. In my head, and in the weeks leading up to this moment, this was a clean-cut, definitive, pleasant ending. I was ready. But he avoided it at all costs. He told me he’d visit in a month and this wasn’t goodbye. What? No! This is not part of the plan! Why can’t it go like I planned?! Shit.

  So among panic-stricken schedule-keeping, big game apartment hunting, and driving in a sea of crazies, this has either grounded me or caused more confusion in my new frontier. I’d like to have a clean slate, and be here with the open mind that will bring me focus, but I suppose this is just another challenge to tackle.

  …So I guess it can’t hurt to snapchat him.

-West Coast