Tag Archives: dating

Romanian Libra and Early Dad Bod

Today I bought some pants. And I am very tall, requiring a 36” inseam which I’m pretty sure doesn’t exist in retail anymore, so I settle for 34”.  I’m also very thin, or… at least I thought I was.  I remember 3-4 years ago (aka the last time I was in a relationship) I was a trim 29/30 waist in mens.  28 depending on the store.  Today I bought pants and I left with a 31.

Okay, okay, not a HUGE difference, but I tried on the 30s and I felt like my gut was spilling over. They felt snug on my hips, and made my legs look fab, but oi.  My belly.

Now I’m officially convinced that I’m on the fast track to fatherhood… SANS CHILD! You heard me.  Dad bod.

I’m definitely being over-dramatic, but I’m 23 and basically ready to dump all my cute threads for sweatpants and hoodies (the latter of which I bought 3 of today).

And this is where the Romanian Libra comes in. He comes in other varieties—the Chinese Fabio, the African sugar daddy, the Maritime stalker (he started off good!!), the Italian stalker (actual stalker), and the Ukrainian big fat question mark—but the Romanian Libra stands out as my biggest relationship regret so I’ll use him. (Also I’m a Gemini so we were pretty much meant to be until I blew it.)

Anyways, 2 and a half years ago I met a Romanian boy online named Cristian. His picture was plain looking with a touch of scholarly—perfect for me!  Not too intimidating but not too boring.  Yet when we met in person I could see that his photo was a little gratuitous.

He wasn’t ugly, by any means. But he didn’t really encompass a “type”, if you will.  I felt ashamed of myself for thinking of him in such a way, especially when one of the first things he said to me was he was glad I didn’t walk out on him like other guys have after first meeting him.  Somehow he caught me there.  It’s like there was a switch that flicked on and I had to have him.  Normally I cringe when men are self-loathing (y’know, like me) but Cristian was so sincere.  He wasn’t looking for pity.  He was just happy I gave him a chance and he told me so.

He became increasingly attractive to me as I got to know him. He was older than I, but incredibly inexperienced.  He was shy and modest and I tried to be gregarious enough for the both of us.  I was playful and eager and innocent.  I felt innocent with him and it was so special.  It was our first date and it was probably the most memorable first date I’d ever had.  I asked him if it would be alright for me to kiss him when he took me back to my place.  And it was.  And he was awful kisser but he was an amazing kisser.  I feel warm just thinking about it.

The next time we hung out I invited him over to my place to watch a movie (no, not Netflix and chill). He was dressed so… drab.  And it occurred to me that he was pretty drab on our first date too.  And both dates I was dolled up in my tightest jeans and my cutest sweaters!  And it wasn’t until today that I really thought of myself as having looked “cute” in clothes.  But I was.  I was thin and nice clothes fit me so I bought them and I wore them.  And now today I look at myself in my size 31s with a gut on the verge and I miss my Romanian Libra so very much.  Because with him I was cute, and I was confident.  And today I am not.

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Quiet homebody seeks LTR

About Me:

ASL?  23, male, my apartment (indefinitely)

I find myself wishing I had the nerve to pursue the dating game again.  I’ve been randomly browsing dating websites and finding myself yearning to reach through my screen to pull the geekiest, kindest looking boys right into my living room.  (Which makes me realize how much my idea of an ideal boyfriend has changed over the years)

Of course I still like a bad boy with a bod as much as anyone else, but I think I’ve come to realize that I would never be able to feel totally at ease with someone who’s going to put in the effort it takes to look like the douche that everybody envies when I’m purely running on youthful metabolism at this time (and hopefully for a long time!)

I get told time and time again that I’m “literally beautiful” “one of the best looking people [I] know” “like model pretty”.  I’ve been approached to do modeling 4 or 5 times (once was local alternative, once was a small artsy/modern kinda business, once by a Holt Renfrew rep., and a couple times online by people wanting me to do a few local runways for their aspiring fashion lines).  And I’m humble enough about this that I either reject or ignore every offer.

Beauty is honestly, truly, skin deep.  I don’t feel beautiful at all.  I don’t feel worthwhile at all.

I have a very long, slender, thin frame.  One of the things I love most about my body is my tiny waist and beautiful bone structure.  I have broad shoulders, my limbs are long, my cheekbones out of this world, but slathered all over it is this skin that I writhe under.  And that’s not to say I have bad skin, I just… I sometimes feel like I am a fat skinny person.  Like everyone who sees me sees all the things I would love about myself, but underneath my clothes I see the things that deter me (am I being literal or metaphorical?).  My chest for starters–inherited via my father, and his father before him.  The largest point of contention in my life.  I have never stood proud, shoulders back.  I have never taken my shirt off since beginning puberty.

Especially now that I live alone, this affects my life daily.  Trying to find clothes to wear that make me feel comfortable enough to brave going outside can be an hour long process.  Sometimes longer.  Sometimes I decide not to go out at all.  Even buying groceries is hard for me.  I have a lot of anxiety about people seeing me.  I’ve spent so much of my life stocking up on carbs and snack foods, frozen foods, foods with artificial ingredients and a longer shelf life.  Why?  Because it allows me to stay home for longer.  My skin feels like elastic and I’ve never had a lean tight body.  I feed myself garbage, how could I expect to have that body?  I am the skinny fat person, for as long as my metabolism allows.

I pick apart every little thing about myself and use it as fuel for being alone.  My breath reeks–cryptic tonsils.  I have awful sebaceous dermatitis–my hair gets so waxy if I’m not diligent and I shed skin cells from my scalp like my cats shed in the spring.  My teeth could be whiter, my nose could be more elegant (and it runs a lot because I broke it in kindergarten, which also makes me a mouth breather, yuck), my eyebrows never quite look like they belong.

Even non-physical things.

My mom still does my banking–I’m not frivolous I just don’t know anything about finances.  I’m pretty lazy when it comes to doing laundry.  My cats are welcome to walk, sit, or lay wherever they please (counter tops and dining tables included).  I am incredibly habitual and follow a daily routine, anything out of the ordinary is indelibly stressful.  If you’re with me for the long haul you better be prepared to re-watch my favourite movies and replay my favourite video games on a yearly (or so) basis.  I’m pretty ambitionless and am rarely motivated to do anything other than sit on my ass (my version of “homebody” for all you online dating folks).  I like to think I’d be into adventures and cute dates of laser tag or skating or going to the movies or walking through the park, but I’ll probably wind up passing because it’s too hot to wear a sweater to blanket my insecurities within.

Oh yea, and if we eat too close to bed time or I haven’t had a number 2 in a while (also thanks to my dad’s genetics), you can forget about cuddling with me much less doing ANYTHING ELSE.

So if any of this makes me your idea of a perfect partner, hit me up!

Hey you,

I was at work the other day, and I was talking to my boss about you.  She’s such a great person.  Very bubbly, ditzy, and easy to talk to–much like myself!

She listened to me, understood me, and was compassionate.  She told me that she thinks you struggle with how comfortable I am with myself (even though I never feel it) when you’re not that comfortable with yourself (even though you never show it).

I think she could be right.  You abandoned me to my loneliness and started trying to fill your void only two weeks later.  What were you trying to find?

She said something else to me of interest as well.  She told me that she would almost feel like you were ashamed or embarassed of her, if she were in my position.  And that’s exactly how I felt.

You didn’t let me meet your family, or your friends.  You only invited me over once, when everyone was gone for the week.  I felt incredibly insecure.  Then you tell me that I’m weird to be around in public?  I didn’t know who I was with you in public.  Was I your love?  Was I your friendship?  Was I neither?  I didn’t know how to act around you in public.  Of course I was awkward.

Every day–every single day–I have people tell me how beautiful I am inside and out, how my smile lights up the world and I never run out of things to talk about.  How I am kind and considerate and always trying to make others happy.  How I am such a blast to be around, and how I can relate and listen and confide in people under any circumstance.

How did you take that away from me?  How did I find myself in a place where I didn’t know how to reach you with these qualities of mine?

Were you good for me?  Are you still good for me?  Will we ever be good for eachother?  Will we ever be together again?

These are questions I just keep needing to find answers to.  I can’t believe you won’t do me the courtesy of answering my sadness.  Especially after all the sadness you’ve caused me.

He says “goodmorning”.

I met a guy tonight.  We’ve been texting for awhile, and tonight I finally met him.  I was hesitant, and I was scared.  I wondered if I was really ready to meet someone new again.  I know I’ve met another guy since my ex, but it was different.  He wasn’t… connected?

This boy?  He says “goodmorning”.

I know it doesn’t seem like much.  Maybe it even sounds silly.  But it makes me feel special.  It makes me feel like someone is thinking about me, when they get a spare moment in their morning to shoot me a text with well wishes.  My ex hadn’t said goodmorning or goodnight for a long time without my having said it first.

I know I can be high-maintenance sometimes.  I know I agitate easily and am an incredibly stressful person.  But it doesn’t take much to make me genuinely happy.  All I really need is a man to acknowledge me as someone special.  All I need is a “goodmorning” with a smile.  And I smile back.