The Good...the bad...the Sheriff

Not the actual badge. 

Most of guys I date could humbly be described as “nerdy cute.”  They usually collect things like antique swords or American roots music and have multiple graduate degrees because they couldn’t decide on just one.  The Sheriff, though, he was different. He, obviously, worked in law enforcement. He carried a badge and a gun.  He collected...I don’t know what he collected but it sure as hell wasn’t antique swords.   He reminded why dating could be fun!  And he arrived just in the nick of time. 

I had begun to believe that dating would never be fun again--that it would only ever be a couple of hours over coffee where I would have to pretend to be impressed that you were an accomplished floor salesman.   After a few truly fun dates with the Sheriff, he served as a last minute wedding escort and was a most fantastic date. Completely personable and willing to fetch me cake from across the ballroom, my friends dug him.  I dug him. So yes, he seemed to be pretty cool and things were going well. Did I mention that he was totally hot?  The kind of hot that also happens to be a very good kisser?  The kind of good kisser that makes one lose their inhibitions?  You get the idea. I had not really had a good time  with a guy since the long and miserable demise of my relationship. The Sheriff offered fun on a variety of levels and my usually uptight self made the decision to just see where the fun would take me.  

As it turns out, fun took me to Crazytown. Let’s be honest.  Those who know me know that many of my interactions that go beyond three dates end in Crazytown.  But this was an especially looong sojourn to the ole CT.  If dating makes me crazy, texting while dating is the icing on the crazy cake served at the Crazytown centennial celebration.  

The really crazy part is I prefer pie. 

Now, The Sheriff would text me everyday.  In the beginning, it’s part of what made seem like a good prospect.  I like a man who pays attention.  He would text me funny and insightful comments, or just see how I was doing. But towards the end of our time together, I would ask how he was doing and sometimes I would get just two words.  “At work.” Ok, but see, that’s not really an answer to the question. A girl with a cooler head might think “He’s at work, he can’t talk.  Hey I’m at work.  Maybe I should work.”  I think “Oh my GOD! What does this mean? Maybe I should ask everyone within earshot?!?”  He became a puzzle I needed to figure out.  Things stopped being fun and I became a full time resident of Crazytown.  

The crazy really hit the fan when after about a month I asked the Sheriff where he thought we might be going. I called him up and asked him what he thought.  He said he was tired and could not have this conversation at the moment because he was exhausted but he would call me the next day.   I wasn’t trying to put pressure on him.  I was just trying to figure out which mental box to put him him: boyfriend, possible boyfriend, undecided.  Really any answer would have been acceptable.  No answer was not.  As it turns out, I put him in the cowardly jerkface box as he FELL OFF THE FACE OF THE PLANET, practically never to be heard from again.  He never did call me back.  Five days later I received the lamest text message ever saying “Um, I haven’t gotten back.  Been busy has hell.” Dude, go to hell.  It hurt my feelings but it’s really fine. 

As they say, hindsight is 20/20, and as I write this entry, it is clear that we wanted different things.  He wanted something casual.  I’m still not sure what I wanted. Part of the reason I began this blog was to take a step back and examine where I’ve been, maybe to help me figure out where I’m going.  To that end, we can cross “cowardly law enforcement”off the list.  There is no recipe from my repertoire that truly captures this experience, so today I'll link you to one from the mighty Alton Brown. I hope you enjoy!