That’s basically what one commenter wrote to me several posts back.

Here’s what the commenter wrote:

“nobody has ever thought I was worthy enough to pursue”

so you’re saying that in the time you were on online dating sites, no men every sent you messages? Not including the ‘let’s fuck’ messages because those are obviously stupid.

But I find it hard to believe that ZERO decent men sent you a message at all. But like your friend who felt this guy was ‘beneath her’, you perceive any man who showed/shows interest in you as beneath you, and reject him.

And so you stay alone.

You’ve had options. You could have them tomorrow if you went back to online dating. You choose to be alone.

It’s been stewing in the back of my brain for awhile now. I chose not to respond to this person at first because I couldn’t be bothered to.

This is humiliating to admit, but with my current subscription to eHarmony, months have passed where not a single man has even bothered to look at my profile.

Yes, there have been men who have sent me messages — but how do you know they’re “decent”? I’m not perceiving that they’re “beneath me.” There are some men I’m not attracted to. Some people like their partners to have a little meat on their bones; others prefer those who are athletic-looking. What this commenter is saying is, “Oh, well you’re just looking down on everybody who contacts you. You think they’re beneath you and that’s why you’re rejecting them.”

No, that’s not the case. I’ve actually gone out with several of them — against my better judgment — because I wanted to prove to myself, and I suppose, to a lesser extent, people like this commenter — that I was open-minded enough to give people a chance. I believed that maybe I’d be surprised and find myself really enjoying a date despite not being attracted to the person, and that something exciting could happen as a result.

This did not happen.

The way I approach online dating? I don’t just base it off someone’s looks. I only email a max of five times before insisting on a phone conversation to set up a date. I know from the phone conversation whether face-to-face conversation will be weird and stilted or easy and interesting.

Meeting in person allows me to see if there’s attraction or chemistry.

I’ve even gone out on two or three dates with men I’m not attracted to and have zero chemistry with to see if I’m being fair to them or to myself and giving it a chance.

So, to the commenter: you’re just assuming as much about me as you thought I was assuming things about men I’ve met online.

I found myself thinking about this again — and getting angry — when a former co-worker text me on Friday night to say that she wanted to meet up this week because there was a man she wanted to set me up with.

The reason why she thought we’d be “great” together?

We’re both single and we’re both Asian.

In the past, I would have readily agreed to this even though I didn’t want to. Why? Because I wanted to show myself that I was being open-minded and giving this a fair chance.

I’m not doing this anymore.

Running through the number of men I’ve been set up with by friends, family and co-workers and then also adding all the men I’ve met online, I know my mistakes:
1. Forcing myself to go out with people I’m not attracted to because I want to prove that I’m open-minded and then having a bad time as a result.
2. Not having any standards besides telling myself that I do — I actually don’t because I will very often agree to set-ups and being asked out online simply because I feel like I should force myself to get out there…because, as the commenter made me feel, I had nobody to blame but myself for being alone.

The shit thing about commenters who write this kind of stuff is that they’re exactly like every single other well-meaning person in your life who thinks they’re giving you tough love.

They act like they’re experts on your life and like they somehow know better and you should thank them for being so straight up with you. They think things are easy because they’ve never had to struggle with both being single and being depressed. (People who don’t struggle with depression simply don’t understand what it’s like. They think it’s something you can “snap” out of and I know they look down on me because I see a therapist and have had to take meds as a result.)

This kind of stuff pisses me off.

So, if you read this and you think you know more about my life and about me than I do, please keep your opinions to yourself. If what I’ve written disgusts you, then here’s an idea: STOP READING. Why bother to comment? You obviously have zero respect for me and think little of me…so STOP WASTING YOUR TIME AND STOP READING MY BLOG.

So…yet another person I know (not exactly a friend, though someone I’ve occasionally hung out with simply because we’re both single and we used to work together and that seems to be enough to call each other “friends” even though we don’t hang out regularly at all) is now dating someone.

I should be happy for her, right?

After all, she’s 36, also a virgin, and has had zero luck in the romance department. Her first boyfriend was a guy she met online last year — and they only met twice in person, conducting their romance largely online.

This second guy…

Well, I remember a few weeks ago, we met for drinks at this completely shitty dive bar and we were sort of doing the usual bitch fest about how shitty it is being single — and then she mentioned this guy that she had met through a mutual friend. She stressed how uninterested she was in him because he was…well, he was fat and he was ugly.

Mind you, she’s no beauty queen, either.

I don’t say this to be mean, but I want to paint a clear picture of her for you to keep in mind.

This friend is big, herself, and has thinning hair, bad skin, and is riddled with anxiety and depression issues. She’s the first to dispense advice on things she couldn’t possibly know anything about. Too often, she’s riding around on her high horse, judging and acting like she’s the Queen of All That Makes Sense.

At work, she was quite often nervous, spazzy, and childish. Even though I hated our boss, I still agreed with her decision to fire this friend.

All of that said, she’s got a good heart and I’ve always rooted for her to find happiness because I think that, underneath it all, I felt like her loneliness was different from mine. Where she’s fragile, I’m cold and hard.

Our loneliness has changed us in different ways.

So, imagine my surprise when a few weeks later, I learn through mutual friends that she’s dating this very guy she looked down on.

She had shown me his picture as if to say, “Look at how gross he is! Let’s make fun of him for thinking he could ever get together with someone like me.”

But I said nothing against the guy when I saw his picture because I actually thought they matched. He seemed to have the same sort of energy as her, you know? From what she described, he seemed to share the same interests. The only “problem” was that she seemed to think she was too good for him, looks-wise.

I had mentioned that there was a guy that I worked with that I had thought of setting her up with and when she saw his picture, she immediately perked up and eagerly urged me to set it up. (The guy wasn’t interested. He thought she wasn’t pretty enough for him.)

I don’t know.

I feel like I’ve sort of mellowed — or maybe resigned myself to my situation…and so, this doesn’t bother me as much as it once did. I sort of look at it as: well, she found someone…and it’s less about her finding someone as much as it is about me not finding anybody.

It doesn’t help when my other friends very reasonably tell me, “Well, would you want to date the guy she’s dating?”

No. But it’s like, she found someone who liked her enough to pursue her…nobody has ever thought I was worthy enough to pursue…and that brings on the pangs of angst and fear, making me wonder what’s wrong with me.

Long weekends always make me feel a little…well, at loose ends. Inevitably, I have no plans. Well, no, that’s not true. The sister and brother-in-law have invited the family over — and while aunts, uncles and cousins will descend on one location for this long weekend, it’s not exactly fun.

Or maybe I only think it’s heinous because I feel like I’m in arrested development and have nothing new to report back to these people the few times a year that I’m forced to interact with them.

But it’s not exactly true that nothing new has happened to me — the only problem is that all the new stuff has been on the work front and I don’t want to sound like some tedious bore, going on and on about work…though, I suppose that’s better than saying nothing and appearing like some sullen deaf mute who is rightfully alone.

Do you think we ever grow out of that phase of needing to appear successful/accomplished/happy in the eyes of others? Why isn’t it enough to feel that way internally and leave it at that?

I’ve mentioned that sense of falling further and further behind — as if life were a race — and I’ve come to some really disturbing realizations about myself…namely that, I have this weird sense of superiority over certain people in my life…certain people I call friends.

One friend has — for whatever reason — always been in awe of me. She thinks I’ve actually led an interesting life (!) and will turn to me for the last word on a lot of decisions in her life.

While she thinks of me as her best friend, I know I take her for granted; sometimes, I’m actually annoyed by her presence because she’s like that annoying hanger-on from school…you know, that one annoying kid you didn’t really want to be friends with and who follows you around like some puppy dog, slavishly devoted to you for completely unfathomable reasons.

She’s a copy cat who, weirdly enough, likes to do everything that I do. If I buy a bag, she’ll immediately decide that she likes it too and wants the bag, as well. If I start shopping somewhere, she’ll want to start shopping there as well.

This friend is married. And she’s horrible to her husband.

It’s one thing for me to talk bitterly about men in general, but to listen to her repeat those things and say them to her husband as insults — and think it’s funny? Well, it just leaves me wondering how the hell someone like her ever managed to find someone to fall in love with her enough to agree to live the rest of his life with her.

And it was one of those weird situations where, he happened to be in a store, saw her and decided to approach her because he liked how she looked.

And this friend isn’t a looker. For one thing, she’s got a lot of hair…some of it is on her face.

Ok, ok. I can already hear you. You’re asking why the hell I’m friends with her.

Well…I don’t think we’re really truly friends. I’ll often forget about her and then she’ll resurface, sending me texts and calling me to see how I’m doing. It’s really one-sided actually.

A huge part of me can’t understand what I did to deserve this type of devoted friendship from her.

I think I’ve either gotten better at pretending everything’s okay or I’m just used to it. Like, when you’re single for a really, really long time (in my case, all of my life), you don’t know any different.

You imagine that life is better as a twosome, but because you’ve never experienced — and probably never will — you just learn to bump along life from one day to the next and try and put it out of your mind.

I have a former co-worker who considers me her best friend. She always says, “Stop it” when I start going down this road.

Easy for her to say. She’s been in a relationship for most of her adult life and now has three kids with the man.

I know one thing I’ve struggled with — more and more — is this irrational jealousy towards other women.

Take one of my co-workers for example. She’s tall, blonde, leggy, lazy, self-absorbed and obnoxious. Yet, the hot guy on our floor — the one who freelances as a photographer — is always hanging around her.

For the most part, I try to ignore her. She can tell that I am not her biggest fan…yet, she remains pleasant towards me — as if to say, “Your pettiness doesn’t bother me because you are so unimportant to my life.” And, thinking about it, that’s how I should behave, too.

Here’s another example: my brother-in-law’s sister is a year older than me. She’s got one of those extremely bland personalities coupled with a meekness that makes you want to scream. She actually looks dopey.

When my sister and her husband went on a double date with her and a guy she’d been set up with, my sister reported back that it was the most painfully awkward dinner she’d ever been forced to sit through. Her sister-in-law was rendered mute and offered only one-word answers.

I’ve met this woman on a number of occassions and she’s got this dumb look perpetually plastered on her face. She’s only one year older than me but dresses like a grandmother. She’s frumpy and doesn’t take care of herself.

And yet she now has a boyfriend!

How is this even possible?!

I know, I know. You, like some of my friends, might say, “Well, is her boyfriend someone you would date?”

No. Most definitely not…but I can’t help but feel like I’m falling further and further behind, languishing in some no man’s land of rejection.

That, ultimately, is what bothers me the most.

Granted, I don’t talk about this out loud anymore because I’m fully aware of how I sound. (Which, I’ll have to admit, is the main reason I’ve decided to resurrect this blog and start writing in here…even though I’ve gotten flack in the past for revealing myself to be an absolutely loathesome person who “deserves” to be alone…or so sayeth some commenters.)

Anyway…

Another reason it’s been emotionally rough-going lately is because there’s this guy at work who is really cute, but who has a girlfriend who…when I look at her, I think, “Seriously?”

Sure, she’s probably “nice” but sometimes — okay, all the time — I wonder, “What is about one person over another that makes them worthy of love over another?”

I don’t reveal any of these ugly thoughts in front of other people; most people who meet me think I’m a barrel of laughs and fun to be around; people find me easy to confide in (like the guy at work that I just mentioned); I’ve been told that I’m very attractive…but I’ve also been told I’m very picky…and you know what? I don’t think my single status has to do with being picky.

My problem is that nobody seems to think I’m worth dating — despite being told over and over again how “great” I am.

What’s the point of being a great catch is nobody wants to catch you?

Maybe it’s time to brush off this blog and start posting again.

No. Not much has changed where the virgin status/relationship status is concerned.

Things have changed in the job front, though.

I changed jobs again. I’m happier where I am.

And that should mean something right?

I’ve got a great job that I can support myself in. And…without even really realizing it, that started to change who I was.

An older friend of mine — she’s in her sixties — commented the other day that when she first met me (we used to work together) she thought I was this really miserable, unhappy, sullen bitch. (Thanks!) But now, things are different.

I smile more. I seem lighter. I even dress better.

Hell — the gay men at my new job have actually started looking forward to seeing the outfits I pull together each day because they think I’m stylish.

Who would have thunk it?

But, here’s the thing: I think I’ve only gotten better at pretending I’m okay.

I never pretend I’m happy. Never that.

I don’t try and keep up with the younger women at work, updating everybody in nauseating detail about what I did on the weekends or after work.

The truth is, my life isn’t much changed from before — I still have very few friends. I’m still alone. And I’m still lonely.

Tonight — Saturday night — I’m feeling especially lonely.

Things with the Married Guy didn’t end well — as in, nothing ever really happened. Maybe I imagined all the flirtation. Maybe I read too much in his emails and our lunch dates.

I signed up again with eHarmony back in February. I went on a few dates — but then things petered out. The guys I contacted never responded. The one guy I made it to date #2 with never called again. And now…barely anybody looks at my profile.

It’s a kick to the ego.

There’s a guy at work who is like my work husband. Even though he’s married with a kid, I suspect he’s gay. We balance each other out and it’s easy to talk to him…and, for the first time in my life, I haven’t fallen into that trap of believing that I have feelings for someone just because he’s shown me a bit of kindness.

I don’t know…

I’m in a weird place tonight.

I sort of feel like I’ve moved past depression and just accepted the way things are.

Why, aged 29, I have decided I’ll NEVER have sex again

Guys — and you know who you are when I say “guys” — have you read this in the Daily Mail?

It’s an article by a woman who has decided to never have sex again because she identifies as asexual. 

Needless to say, I was fascinated by it:

• Lisa Smith, from Buckinghamshire, finds sex ‘repellant’
• Has had three lovers, two of whom she has lived with
• Wants to find a man with whom she can have a celibate relationship
• Will adopt children if she ever decides she wants them

By LISA SMITH

PUBLISHED: 22:19 GMT, 30 January 2013 | UPDATED: 23:35 GMT, 30 January 2013

•  

My strategies for avoiding sex had run out and so, as the inevitable happened, I simply hoped my boyfriend could not tell that I was enduring, rather than enjoying, our encounter.

John was a virgin when we met, so I assume he did not realise how strange and dysfunctional our perfunctory couplings were.

We’d abstain for months until, finally, he’d start bribing me with gifts to go to bed with him. But I loathed it. I dreaded the foreplay, and the act itself repulsed me. I could only bear it by focusing my mind on something else.

It’s not that John was a particularly inept lover – he wanted very much to please me – nor was this a terminal case of bedroom boredom. The problem is that I have always detested sex: the idea of it, the fact of it, and the repellent notion that society seems to revolve around it.

I am 29 and I have had three lovers, two of whom I lived with. I have tried to quell the disgust I feel at the prospect of sex, but have failed repeatedly to do so.

There is nothing physically wrong with me – doctors have confirmed this – and I am not afflicted by guilt. My parents had a healthy and open attitude to sex. There is no dark incident lurking in my past that would explain my abhorrence: I have not been abused nor mistreated, and I have never been coerced into having sex against my will.

I am not gay, and I feel no physical attraction towards women. I do not think anything is ‘wrong’ with me, although perhaps my attitude would have been considered less freakish if I had been born in the Victorian era.

I just hate sex, and have decided I will never put myself through the torture of it again. I am in my physical prime, but my sex life is over. I wish it were not so. My tragedy is that I want to be ‘normal’. I crave the companionship of a man. I would love to be married; to build a home, to enjoy the comfort and domesticity of a life-long relationship with a partner I could cherish. I want to love and be loved.

I do not find men themselves abhorrent. On the contrary, I appreciate their looks and enjoy their company. I like cuddles, I don’t mind kissing and I yearn for affection; but nothing more than that.

I have researched internet sites and discovered that only one per cent of the population is, like me, asexual. Of these, half are men and a smaller proportion is gay.

So I have resigned myself to the fact that there is scant chance of my finding a man I love who, like me, wants a celibate relationship.

I have not discussed my lack of libido with my parents – in a sense, this article is my ‘coming out’ – but I know it saddens them that the wedding and grandchildren they yearn for have not been forthcoming.

Perhaps they believe I just haven’t met the right man yet. I can assure them,  however, that I have persevered with sex for long enough to know that for me it is a  misery and a penance.

Why should I endure it, just to make other people happy?

I have known since my teenage years that I am different from my peers. I grew up in Buckinghamshire, where I still live with my parents, and attended a girls’ grammar school.

While my friends were devouring teen fiction and sniggering over the salacious nuances in it, I was immersed in animal stories. I found sex-education lessons alien and embarrassing: I did not see how they could ever apply to me. 

 

When my friends started pairing off with boys, I could not identify with them. While they bought make-up and made covert visits to Ann Summers shops, I enjoyed ballet and my beloved pets.

One by one they lost their virginity, and described the fact to me in dreadful detail. I couldn’t see how any of it applied to me, but reassured myself that once I had a boyfriend, everything would fall into place.

 t didn’t. My best friend, Stephanie, introduced me to Adrian, her  boyfriend’s pal, in the summer of 1999, when I was 16. Adrian was 19 – sweet, funny and slightly overweight. I liked him: we shared the same interest in trashy TV, and he didn’t seem to mind that I was a bit of a nerd.

I decided I was going to lose my  virginity to him as quickly as possible, to silence my friends – who considered me abnormally prudish – and to be like everyone else.

So, three months after we started going out, I slept with Adrian for the first time on his rumpled bed at his parents’ house, one afternoon when they were both at work.

There was no romance, but I didn’t want that. I wanted to get it over and done with, as you would some tedious chore. Adrian, who’d had two previous relationships, knew it was my first time. He was kind and patient, but he hadn’t bargained for the level of fear and panic I felt. 

 

Afterwards, I felt only revulsion, but I was determined to persevere.

I stayed with Adrian at weekends, making sure sex was the first thing on the agenda when I arrived, so we could get it over with and progress to things that were interesting and fun.

But each encounter confirmed that I was repelled by it. I learned to fake pleasure but afterwards, while Adrian slept, I stared at the ceiling and silently cried.

Eventually, realising the true nature of my feelings, he was angry and hurt. We’d been together for nine months; I was due to take up a place to read anthropology at the University of Surrey, in October 2000 and it seemed the right moment to separate, so we did.

 But I felt distraught; convinced there must be something physically wrong with me that was preventing me from enjoying sex.

The doctor gave me a check-up and did several tests, all of which confirmed my hormone levels were normal and that there was nothing physically untoward. Still, though, I continued to feel like a freak, an outsider.

At university, I was lonely and miserable. It seemed everyone else was having lots of fantastic sex, when all I wanted was a cuddle and a companion.

After five months there, I could stand it no longer. In February 2001, I moved back home to my parents.

My friends from school had all paired up and gone off to pursue their dreams, and my sense of isolation deepened.

When I met John, my next boyfriend, three years later, I think I just felt grateful that anyone wanted me. He was a friend of a friend. I was 20; he was 23, worked in retail management and had never had a girlfriend.

We were two lonely people, and he was almost absurdly grateful that I was taking an interest in him.

So we started seeing each other – and I steeled myself for the inevitable. After a month or so, when I felt I could procrastinate no longer, we slept together. It was every bit as awful as I had feared.

However, a shared dread of loneliness and a need to conform propelled us into a relationship. We rented a two-bedroom terrace together, acquired two cats, and for much of the time life was fine.

I started work in the same DIY store as John – I’m still there now – and in my spare time wrote teen fiction and poetry, which remains my real passion.

Although John and I only had sex once every three or four months, I found it so repellent I ceased even to fake enjoyment – poor John would have done anything to please me

In the evenings we ate together, then curled up on the sofa watching films on television. My parents hoped for a wedding and grandchildren, but I knew that neither would happen.

The problem, of course, was sex. The idea of it remained abhorrent to me, and I found 1,000 reasons to avoid it.

Although John and I only had sex once every three or four months, I found it so repellent I ceased even to fake enjoyment. Poor John would have done anything to please me, but I could never tell him that the only way to make me happy was for us both to take a lifetime’s vow of abstinence.

Remarkably, we stayed together for seven years but, inevitably perhaps, John finally left me for another woman. I just felt relieved that it had ended, and that the charade was over.

At 27, I went back to live with my  parents, feeling disillusioned and  convinced of my weirdness.

I sought help from a psychosexual therapist. She said: ‘If you hate sex and you’re fine with that, you have no problem. If you don’t want to hate it, you do have a problem.’

 

I had a problem. So I visited the therapist for six weeks, but talking about sex made me squirm with discomfort and eventually I realised it was pointless to continue. I stopped going to the sessions.

I had assumed there was something about me that needed to be fixed. It didn’t occur to me that I could just accept the way I was.

And then, in July 2011, I met Owen in a local bar. He was tall, slim and athletic, with curly hair and a beard: close to my idea of physical perfection in a man.

I didn’t know what to do, who to talk to or where to go. I felt lost. So what did I do? I dissembled, as I had so many times before

 

He seemed shy, which was a good fit for me, and was working as a barman while he studied for an engineering degree at London University.

Meeting him ignited a spark of optimism in me. Owen was so attractive, I even nurtured a hope that if I had sex with him, my revulsion might finally evaporate.

I dared to believe he might change me; that all I needed was to be with someone like him and then I would become a normal, functioning partner.When we started dating, I felt happy and full of hope. And when, after just two weeks, it became obvious we would have sex, I was neither fearful nor tense. Actually, I was looking  forward to it.

But as things progressed, the old dread and revulsion consumed me. I felt confused and angry: why was I such a freak?

I didn’t know what to do, who to talk to or where to go. I felt lost. So what did I do? I dissembled, as I had so many times before. I’d become such a proficient actress that I don’t think Owen suspected my true feelings.

Celibacy: ‘There aren’t many of us, and I know my chances of finding an asexual partner – a man I love but who never wants to have a physical relationship – are remote’

We moved in together two months later and I was prepared to play at happy families. Sometimes, I even initiated sex because I wanted so much for him to love me.

But it was all a sham. We broke up last April, after eight months together, just as I had begun to find excuses for not sleeping with him. There was housework to do; I had a headache.

How could I tell him the truth: that he was gorgeous, but I found intimacy repulsive?

So, once again, I am back living with my parents. Loneliness haunts me. Although I go through the motions of a normal life – I occupy myself with ballet classes, gym, Pilates and the odd outing to the pub – I know I do not fit in.

You may wonder how I can be so sure, at 29, that I will not change. My response is: would you ask a gay person the same question? I make the parallel because it used to be thought that gay people could be treated or have therapy to make them heterosexual. It didn’t work any more than it would ‘cure’ me of my asexuality.

Hopes: ‘By writing this article, I hope more people will be emboldened to admit they feel the same way as me’

My friends are few, and most of them are engaged or married. I do not tell them I find sex disgusting. Why should I? They would only regard me with puzzlement and disbelief. Certainly, none of them could empathise with me.

I haven’t discussed my problem with anyone. Whenever female friends have discussed sex I played along, pretending I shared their interest in it.

John knew I hated sleeping with him – we were together too long for that not to have been obvious – but it became the elephant in the room. We didn’t discuss it; I think we both feared that would make the problem worse.

Seven months ago, I began to wonder if anyone else shared my problem. I stumbled on a website called Asexuality Visibility & Education Network. Actually, it was a comfort to discover there are others in the world who never want to have sex.

And by writing this article, I hope more people will be emboldened to admit they feel the same way as me.

But there aren’t many of us, and I know my chances of finding an asexual partner – a man I love but who never wants to have a physical relationship – are remote.

Still, I hope that one day I may discover him and marry. I do not want children of my own. The idea of carrying a baby repulses me as much as the act of procreation itself. I feel it is unnatural.

People say that, as I get older, I may change my mind. I wish I could say there was a glimmer of hope that I would, but I have absolutely no sense of a biological clock ticking. If ever I do want children, I will adopt.

My mind is made up: I will not have sex again. This may consign me to a lonely life, but it is better than deceiving a man a love. A relationship based on such a sham is the ultimate lie.

(Some names have been changed)

Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2270895/I-loathe-foreplay-act-repulses-Lisa-Smith-Buckinghamshire-decided-sex-again.html#ixzz2JVf5pnjy 
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I vowed up and down that I would never go back online. 

I was through with the disappointments, I told myself. 

Obviously, I was lying — as much to myself as I was to everyone else. 

What prompted the return trip online? 

The Married Man and I finally met up recently for lunch. It was the first time we were seeing each other in person since I left my old job. We’d been in constant contact this whole time. 

Don’t say it. I know it’s wrong. 

But you know what? It was different seeing him in person and seeing his wedding ring. That circular band had a weird power over me. I couldn’t stop staring at it. 

I didn’t know how it made me feel. 

For once, I was direct and forced him to talk about his family. It made him uncomfortable. When we parted ways, he hugged me for a beat too long. A series of emails followed. He asked if he could see me again. 

I felt really, really tired. 

I went back online the next day. 

Within a week, I had a date with a guy who was cute and age-appropriate. The date was fine — I mean, you don’t spend two hours with someone unless you’re having a somewhat decent time, right? And, yet, I kept thinking about the Married Man. 

I thought about him obsessively, actually. It made me really hate myself. 

I’ve stubbornly refused to email him. 

I haven’t heard from Cute Guy, either. 

A not-so-cute guy emailed me, though. His hair looks stupid. I know this is a stupid reason to want to reject someone — which is why I haven’t…yet. But I feel like I’m going through the motions. 

I’m so tired of this. 

I didn’t realize that I haven’t posted here since August — though, I can’t honestly say that anything interesting has happened to me since then…okay, nothing positive has happened to me.

Oh. I have a new job. The Married Man and I are still in touch — but now it’s this weird thing where all we do is email each other. What is that? It’s certainly not a relationship. We had a conversation shortly after I left where we sort of tip-toed closer to the subject of us…but then quickly backed away because it was uncomfortable and I suspect we’re both ultimately very shy people.

The Married Man isn’t what I would have ever imagined myself falling for; he’s more than a little awkward; he’s not particularly attractive; and, to be honest, I can’t really put my finger on why I’m attracted to him.

But…nothing has happened.

What else is new?

I feel like I’m in a state of arrested development.

There’s this older woman at work I’ve become good friends with. She’s a single mother to a sickly teen who’s in and out of the hospital quite a bit. She hasn’t been in a relationship for years and admitted that when she was with her ex-husband, her lack of interest in sex was a major issue. He bailed shortly after their kid was born.

Her life has been nothing but a series of disappointments; she’s tried to change careers but her chosen career doesn’t have any available jobs; she’s the only one out of her siblings who helps out with her parents, who are both elderly and in ill-health; our jobs lately haven’t seemed particularly secure and the gossip-mill is running overtime.

I don’t know why, but when I think of my friend, I feel this sense of, “Life could always be worse.”

Isn’t that horrible?!

How has my weak semblance of “happiness” turned into a matter of comparing myself to others and thinking, “It could be worse”?

This whole weekend, I’ve felt depressed. I feel like a pathetic old maid.

I was reading this book, recently, where the main character mused that she was quickly becoming one of “those” women — someone who either waited too long or settled too fast.

I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe I had rapidly passed my “best before date” and had now simply waited too long…or can it really be considered “waiting” when you’ve had zero luck meeting somebody, nevermind dating and being in a relationship?

I’ve been told by the people in my life over and over again that I could have been with somebody a long time ago if I’d chosen to settle. I really wonder if that’s true. I’ve tried settling before, but something in me stubbornly refused to do it — I used to think it was fear.

Even at the ripe old age of 34, my old school mother is still agreeing to set-ups on my behalf. She doesn’t even bother asking to see if I’m okay with it because the offers to set me up are far and few between. Who gets set up through their mothers anymore? Haven’t we all migrated over to online dating? At least there’s some semblance of control online.

What bothered me about it was that my mother didn’t even bother to find out anything about this man. I guess it was her own desperation showing — her fear that I was rapidly turning into a spinster — that bothered me.

Of course, she doesn’t know anything about the Married Man, either — not that there’s been much to report on lately.

I think back on how things slowly unfolded between us but how it hasn’t crossed over into sad, predictable, cliched territory because of my steadfast refusal to let it. I’m actually quite good at burying my head in the sand and pretending everything is innocent when I know in my gut that it isn’t.

I’ll admit, a part of me wonders if, because I’m a 34-year-old virgin who’s never been in a relationship, my fear has largely prevented me from doing anything with the Married Man. Maybe, this has less to do with integrity and more to do with fear.

The first time he asked me to grab a coffee with him, I told myself it was perfectly innocent even though there was a moment when he looked at me and I felt a flood of heat flood across my face. It was like my scalp was on fire. And then later, when I returned to my desk, an email popped up, thanking me for making it a great afternoon. The next day, randomly, he emailed me about something I had mentioned and I pictured him sitting in his corner office, thinking of some bullshit reason to email me.

When I tried to ignore him and put some distance between us, he’d continue to email if he hadn’t heard from me in a few days — and I’d lie to myself and tell myself that we were just two friendly colleagues, nothing more…that I wouldn’t ever let anything happen…and that’s the truth: I wouldn’t let anything happen because I’m too chicken-shit to let anything happen.

And yet, the fact that I wrote a polite response to brush off this guy that my mother wanted to set me up with just goes to show that maybe I’ve been lying to myself all along and that I’m way too emotionally involved with the Married Man and that, in some ways, that’s worse for someone like me.

Pathetically, I’ve laid awake at night, imagining what would happen if he left his wife and whether his children would ever like or accept me. And, trust me, I hate myself for even entertaining those thoughts because I know how pathetic it sounds.

I haven’t been following the Olympics, so the first time I heard about Lolo Jones was through the Salon article that I posted last night.

Now, I’m fascinated and can’t seem to stop reading about her.

Granted, Access Hollywood isn’t exactly “real” journalism, but here’s something interesting that she said in an interview with them:

…Lolo – who emphasized that she’s single by choice — admitted that she gets tired of people on Twitter asking why she’s not dating anyone.

“That’s one of the main reasons, because literally there are so many people who aren’t willing to wait for their future spouse. They want to have sex now, they want to hook up,” Lolo – who has openly spoken about being a virgin — said. “That’s their life. My life is something else.”

As someone who values waiting for the right guy, Lolo admitted it’s been a challenge meeting her prince charming.

“I’ve complained about this to all my friends,” Lolo told Access. “‘When am I going to finally meet the man of my dreams, my husband, and experience, you know?’ Please, end this drought.”

I’ve been overthinking my virgin status lately.

Here’s the thing: yes, I complain a lot in this journal — but the reason I complain a lot here is because I don’t dare to complain out loud to anybody else.

I’m not a fool — nobody wants to hang around the bitter whiner who’s always complaining. The only way you get ahead in life is by pretending you’re okay — and it’s surprisingly easy to do that. You just flip everything back to the other person because most people don’t understand how to listen and are just waiting for their turn to talk.

The main reason other people love telling me stuff — and really, I hear loads of things that people are better off keeping to themselves — is because I really listen to them.

But, that also means I have nobody to confide in because I don’t trust other people.

Over the span of the last eight months, things have changed a little…it’s the main reason I haven’t updated all that much. Slowly, little by little, in painfully tiny increments, I’ve landed in a weird place.

Having never really been in a relationship before, I don’t like to presume to know someone else’s feelings — but often, there are some painfully obvious signs that are too hard to ignore…even if you like to lie to yourself so that you can protect yourself in case things aren’t what you thought. So…all of this is just to say that there’s this man — this man, who, if something were to happen with him, would be completely inappropriate because he’s married, he’s got kids, he’s a lot older and I also work for him.

Can you imagine a worse combination? I know that nothing can happen with him. Full stop. But honestly, in the last little bit, I’ve started to understand how people wind up having affairs because I don’t know if I genuinely have feelings for this man — I think I just like the fact that he wants me…and as disgusting as this sounds, I actually wouldn’t mind losing my virginity to him…but I know I won’t. What can I say? I’m a prude on top of being a virgin. But still…I can’t help thinking about it a lot.