Quiet Life

The last text I received from Insurance Guy was on Friday before Easter. Five days later, I got one asking if I thought we should continue seeing each other. This guy is very nice, but there is nothing there. He likes to talk about TV shows and barely kissed me. I rambled to keep our conversations going. Nice guy, but obviously not a match despite the fact we met on Match.com.

His response to my text that we really didn't have a connection was that he felt the same, was disappointed but wished me well. It was the most clean cut, easy dissolution of going out I have ever experienced. Finally! There are normal people in the world! Maybe I'm getting closer.

On the other hand... Maybe not.

The Baby is still texting me despite my very pointed insistence we will not date and I do not just want to Cougar about.

Sitting on my patio typing I hear a ping and discover he's IM-ing me via Facebook. For a startled moment I check to see sticker in front of my computer camera is in place. I always fear they can see me when IM pops up. Is it like Skype? I don't know what it is...

So, I'm going back and forth with pointless computer style texting with the Baby when Ange calls. When she starts questioning about the constant beeping I tell her Jacob is Facebooking me. She dissolves into giggles followed by snarky remarks on his intentions for my virtue.

Jacob IM's that he sent me a pic. He wants me to send a pic. I tell Ange and she starts all over again. But really? If you're on my Facebook just look at those pictures! Why do I have to send you one taken now when I'm in my pjs, hair all tangled and no make-up? Get real.

He says he's texted me a pic of himself he took earlier in the day. I put Ange on speaker so I can open the text. There he is. The pic is taken in the bathroom mirror, another sign of his age. He's holding up his phone, smirking. TOPLESS.

Me: and you're topless

Jacob: shirtless. you don't like it?

Me: I like it, but still, you're topless.

Jacob: ;-)

Ange is screaming in laughter so I forward it to her. I feel a little dishonest doing this but hey, don't send a topless pic of yourself to someone you are not legally bound to unless you don't mind having it shared. Those are the rules. That is why I have never sent a nudey pic to anyone, ever. Plus, I really don't believe anyone needs to see that from in the light of day. Pictures are just so lasting.

Ange is uncontrollable, she wants to forward the pic to her mother but can't figure out how. She's as technologically defunct as I am, apparently.

Jacob is asking to hang out every day. You would think he would get tired and find a new toy. I haven't seen him in two weeks, and don't plan on changing that any time soon.

Me: still don't understand why we are communicating like this if we aren't going to date

J: i don't see the harm in it

Me: of course you don't

J: why do you say that?

Me: only because we already talked about it and you didn't mind. nothing bad

J: is it

ok with you?

Me: i think you're very nice, but yeah it does kind of other me. i really do want to meet someone to have a relationship with, not just play around anymore

J: i completely understand. Is it ok that we play around till you find that?

Me: please define play around

i'm inclined to think it is not such a good idea though

J: it shouldn't mean that you shouldn't have some fun

i think of playing around as in enjoying each other's company whether that be out for a drink, hanging at home

Me: like being friends?

J: that, perhaps more at times as long as both parties are willing but yea. i def want to be friends

Me: the thing that electronic communication lacks the most is the ability to roll eyes at the first half of that response :-). I would like to be friends with you too, but perhaps the flirty stuff better go away seeing as we both want different things.

J: haha

kk

I concede to your terms :)txt me.

gtg do taxes :/

But he still texts. Offers to go to yoga with me even though he isn't flexible. Like I would ever allow a hot guy to see me sweat 85,000 gallons of water in a tight fitting outfit while contorting in strange uncomfortable positions. That is what the bedroom is for. With the lights OFF.

He's even Facebooking me right now, like he knew I was on and writing about our correspondence. Bleep, there he is. Telling me about his night. Interjecting how he'd rather have hung out with me. Well, sorry Baby. Saturday is book, beer, pizza, sweats night. Sacred.

Bleep, he was at a club last night. Didn't dance for fear he would embarrass himself. Bleep, plus he was thinking of me.

Me: Is there an eye rolling icon? I really must research this.