Diary of a Sex-Starved Pseudo-Mennonite, Part 6

The shoes end up in the trunk of my car once a year at best. I put them there for the 2 dates I had that never happened in a neighboring state because the meeting places were pretty and one might want to take a walk. Then in my self-created libidinal chaos, I forgot I left them in there because I never used the shoes or needed them. BECAUSE THE DATES DID NOT HAPPEN. I am not a neuroscientist or a shrink or a Special Ed teacher--I am but a simple Amish plowing with donkey-driven technology through a complex, digital world--but let me attempt to educate you on what I think is the most important and devastatingly disabling part of having ADHD. So a person with typical brain wiring can retrieve say, 100,000 giggawahoozitz of information or memory at any given time. People with ADHD have like 10 giggawahoozitz of information at our disposal when it counts. We have the info. Unfortunately, it often reveals itself hours or days or weeks after we need it to make a real-time decision. We have deep info. Quirky, detailed info no one else notices. I can remember laying in my crib, for fuck's sake. Useful? No. Interesting? Yes! But you can see how this alternate brain wiring might lead to a number of decision-making errors in one's life, like surrendering 2 of your best decades to a sociopath or accusing your shady yet sexy new man friend, who is BLACK, of STEALING from you, A WHITE LADY, the first time he steps his slippahed foot into your home. The optics aren't good. Pretty hard not to buy into unconscious bias when I did such a thing to someone whose child I was prepared to raise (secretly, without him knowing Happy Ness was ever born) extremely recently. Freddy doesn't want me to get pregnant. I don't want him to be an asshole. At least 1 of us got what we wanted.

So I immediately took down my social media post about the now proven false dating crime. But I archived it, cuz it's fucking funny. I had posted I hoped to marry this guy, even though he stole my shoes. Cuz it's hard to meet someone with good taste in shoes. Then I unblocked Freddy to apologize and attempt an explanation. He said he was just confused and wanted the opportunity to explain why he would have had no interest in taking my shoes. He claimed he was carrying nothing when he left the first night. I really don't believe that's true. Obviously it wasn't my shoes, but maybe a sweatshirt or something. I believe Freddy is a gaslighter, so we'll just have to agree to disagree on that finer point.

When I was explaining myself, I told Freddy I have ADHD. Then he told me he has ADHD. When I told Cy I had ADHD, he told me he has ADHD. When I told Doc I had ADHD, he told me he has ADHD, plus Asperger's to up the ante. But none of them get treatment or take medication for it BECAUSE NONE OF THEM FUCKING HAVE IT. (Except Cy. His story added up.) The only online dating dude who DID NOT tell me he had ADHD immediately after I told him I had ADHD (or at any point after) was Bobby. Bobby, wherever you are right now, I FUCKING LOVE YOU.

My friend Cherry says everyone has ADHD. I am recently inclined to believe instead that every dude in my dating app is a fucking liar.

I intuited that Freddy was pleased I had falsely accused him yet came back, head down, heart in hand. What an unforeseen win for Team Narcissist! He pretended to consider my offer to take him to a nice dinner wherever and whenever he wanted with slow, understated enthusiasm. I apologized 3 times in total, employing a variety of rational and adorable approaches. He said he would definitely think about it. That's Freddy's gold standard in manipulation. Sharp vagueness. I will definitely think about it (smiley face emoji). I am not averse (winking emoji). I could possibly do that at some point in the future which I will never define unless it is approximately within the driving time it takes to get from my apartment to boning you (3 successive winking emojis). As the weekend dawned, I took Freddy's temperature once more about dinner and was again greeted with vague, unyielding busyness. So I let it go, conscience clear-ish, and expected not to hear from him again.

Then last Saturday night. Freddy texts to ask how my week was--no follow up questions--and what I'm up to. He still won't commit or not commit to dinner. He is SO BUSY. So I just tell him to let me know where and when he wants to go--we can go wherever he wants--and tell me if he wants to meet there, would like me to pick him up, or if he prefers to drive us. Freddy had said he would pick me up for the Tuesday date he never took me on and never rescheduled. His car looks nice from my front door, parked along the curb. Perhaps if he let me inside, I'd discover he lived in it? I knew if Freddy would not go on a date where he literally had to provide nothing but his presence, his failure to commit to surf-n-turf on Nessie would provide the clarity I needed. Freddy is purely interested in downlow fucking me in the dark of night at only my residence when he has a spare 90 minutes, including transportation time. Both ways. We don't live in the same town.

When Freddy texted last Saturday night pretending to be interested in my plans but merely on a fact-finding, pussy-seeking mission, I told him I was gonna drink bubbly. I didn't tell him I was celebrating a blog dedicated to his obliqueness. Freddy says I should invite him over after I finish my bubbly. I say why not come over and share the bubbly? Shocker; he is SO BUSY. He HASN"T EVEN STARTED MAKING DINNER YET. So I tell him I'm gonna get in the tub and drink bubbly like a baller. Freddy says I should send him a tub pic. 

I text, "No dice. I'm bloated." 

He texts, "HAHAHA!" 

And I haven't heard from him since. Freddy's a Scorpio. Scorpios are highly intuitive, so they just know how to fuck you and also know bloated is code for "I'm bleeding, buddy." I can only imagine at that point Freddy texted white bitch #65 (I'm claiming #66), the one with bad skin, dark roots, an uncontrolled thyroid condition, and not a single corner of her life where Freddy is unwelcome. I didn't want Freddy to come over. Time has passed. The spell is broken. I am too tired for and of his bullshit. I understand now that outside of my marriage, sex is not hard to cum by and the essential ingredient in the Cum-to-Jesus sex Freddy and I shared may very well be me. Instead of being upset, I was relieved Freddy tapped out, and was super distracted by the fact that Freddy will have a threesome with an infant dog during his first sexual encounter with a woman, but apparently won't fuck a bitch on her period. Everyone draws their line somewhere different.

I kinda hate to get into it, but you probably should hear about Doc and why I blocked him in my phone two weeks ago and blocked and reported him in my dating app yesterday. What's up, Doc? 

Until next time, Sweeties!

Ness Sweet Ness