Sad Single Story: Dating (and Getting Dumped By?) A San Francisco Pretty Boy by @LaProvocateur

male model metro male
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If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times: I truly don’t have a “type” when it comes to dating (see my previous on the topic here). But, now that I am happily settled in to a fulfilling long-term relationship, I am frequently reminded of all of the men that I’ve dated that were really (and I mean REALLY) bad ideas. Because, while I may not have a physical type that I am most attracted to (that I’m a sucker for a nice ass in jeans and tight arms in a simple tee), there are typically personality traits that I find most sexy.  Sadly, though, you have to go on a date or two to sometimes discover these personality traits which means that I’ve been on some pretty awful dates. So, let’s take a journey down memory lane together and relive on of my most awkward and mismatched dating experiences to date: dating a pretty boy from San Francisco.

For starters, anyone who knows me knows that I’m a sucker for a man in a suit. Now, I’m not necessarily a fan of a man who wears a suit daily. However, the sneaky surprise of seeing man rugged manly man all trim and tidy in a suit is enough to send shivers down my spine. SIGH…. And a great smelling cologne? I swoon. Seriously. I’ve dated my fair share of what may be referred to as a metro man. You may even call them a Renaissance Man, too. But, dating a bona fide pretty boy? Look, that just isn’t for me. I like stubble. I like rough hands. I like jeans and white tees. I like heavy lifting, athleticism, and a kind smile.

But, dating a bona fide pretty boy? Look, that just isn’t for me. Still, I gave Chase a chance. It only seemed fair.

I suppose I just had a hard time finding this while I was actively dating around. Which is what lead me to earlier this year. Which lead me to giving a pretty boy a chance (I mean, it only seemed fair). Which lead to Chase. And, yes, he does look an awful lot like the man in the image below.

::shake my head::

male model metro male

Chase and I met through, and I immediately questioned his photos (they SCREAMED pretty boy). I even had a sneaking suspicion that he was a bit “privileged,” which is a personality and upbringing characteristic that I’ve truly grown to detest. But, our emails to each other were always sweet, and I saw no reason not to give him a least one date. Plus, his online profile talked extensively about how he is an “old fashioned” kind of man, which I adore. Phone call vs text? I’ll take a phone call. Handwritten note and flowers? Yes, please. So, really, I figured that he couldn’t be all bad.
And, to be perfectly honest, Chase wasn’t all bad…at first.
Our first date was at a little wine bar in his neighborhood. Earlier that morning, Chase had texted me: “T minus 9 hours until the best date of your life.” Gee, a bit dramatic, no? Why all the pressure, buddy? Still, ever the optimist, I forged ahead. When I finally arrived, he’d already settled in to a table outside on their patio. At a glance, my first reaction was that he was, indeed, a very very pretty boy (grey toggle sweater, tight jeans, and loafers with bright blonde hair styled “LA-like”). But, he had a kind smile and a gentle demeanor, so I went all in. We ordered a glass of wine each and started up the usual first date chatter (“where are you from originally?” or “what do you do for fun?” plus the obligatory “tell me about your family.”). We seemed to be getting along famously, and I truly enjoyed our playful banter. But…something kept nagging at me. Hard.
Not to be rude, but I truly thought he was gay. Maybe it was his spot-on impression of his chain smoking potty-mouthed East Coast grandma that got my mind on that track. Or, perhaps it was his incessant hand flailing and wild facial expressions while he talked. But, really, I think it was just a gut reaction to him overall. I literally kept having to remind myself that I was on a date with a potential male partner…not on a date with a potential gay boyfriend. And, trust me, I love me a good gay boyfriend. But, to have to actively remind myself that this outting didn’t fall in to that category is never a good sign.
Trust me, I love me a good gay boyfriend. But, to have to actively remind myself that this outting didn’t fall in to that category is never a good sign.

However, Chase and I agreed to meet up again, and took to occasional texting to keep in touch. Well, that promise of a second date should’ve become null and void when I received the following photos from Chase via text earlier one afternoon:



Chase took photos of me off of my profile and added fluffy little furry felines in to them.

Then texted them to me.


Shame on me for not running away right then and there….

Still, always a woman of my word (whenever possible), I saw Chase again. We had made plans to go to a comedy showcase, which is always a date night favorite of mine, so I had high hopes.
We were both running behind for the date (work work work!), so I took care of buying the tickets and left his at will call so he wouldn’t have to worry. No big deal. Chase strolled in about 15 minutes later, and what I saw as he sat down next to me was truly horrifying to my non-pretty-boy-lovin’ self. He was wearing black skinny jeans. And a fitted white tee. With a deep v-neck grey cardigan. With a fitted black with white stitching blazer. And, the cherry on the top of this “I’m not gay, I swear” sundae was his shoes. Black sparkly sneakersSeriously. I wish I had taken a picture but, truly, I was too stunned to even move. I was speechless, really. So much, in fact, that when he complimented me on my top, I couldn’t reciprocate the compliment in good conscience. I felt like I was in a bad dream….
The comedy showcase itself was enjoyable, but the company was not. He kept trying to grab my arm to raise my hand for silly stuff that the comedians would asked (“who likes yoga?” or “who here has tattoos?”). Look, buddy, I’m a grown woman. I don’t need you raising my hand for me. And, honestly, I wasn’t at all comfortable with how handsy he was being towards me. And, quite honestly, I know that he started to sense my distaste for his behavior. But, instead of being a gentleman…or even human…Chase decided to just be a child.
He loudly and consistently poked fun of me for being “married to my job” and, when a poor older woman dropped her change in to the street, he literally threw his arms out wide, raced across the street squealing “CHANGE!” and then stopped inches from her and laughed loudly, “just kidding.” And, you guessed it, he didn’t even help her finish gathering her change. Who is this dude?! I was so ashamed.
Needless to say, the date ended shortly thereafter. When we got to the intersection near his car and a few blocks from my apartment, he offered to walk me home. Not only did I no longer desire his company, but I was also not keen on him knowing where I lived. So, I politely declined. Plus, we were right next to his car. Why walk me the few blocks when we both know perfectly well that this nonsense isn’t going anywhere. However, his response was the biggest shock of the night. He protested, “You know, chivalry is dead because woman like YOU want it to be.” Excuse me? The exchange thereafter was strained and awkward, so I just let him walk me home. And, when we got to my front door, we halfheartedly hugged goodbye. That was it.
Truly, I assumed it was over from there. We are both grown adults, and we clearly didn’t get along romantically…or at all, for that matter. I had no interest in dating a man-child who dressed and smelled better than me. Or who wore sparkly sneakers. And he had no interest in dating a woman with any independence…or a spine. It would never work. So, let’s move on.
Within the next 30 minutes or so or us parting ways, I received the following text message from our dear pretty boy man-child, Chase: “I hope you find what you are looking for. You’re a very sweet girl. Good luck.”
Now, normally, I would find the gesture sweet. And, honestly, there is a part of me wants to believe his intentions were good. But, truly, there is a larger side of me who is so turned off by his spoiled attitude that I am certain having the last word and oddly “breaking up with me” (after TWO dates) via text is something that makes him feel better about himself. In other words, the gesture had nothing to do with me and everything with him needing to make himself feel better.
So, yes, dear readers, I’ve officially dated…and been dumped…by a San Francisco pretty boy. Cross that off of my list.

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True Tales of Love, Lust, and Lingerie. Open-minded and brutally honest oversharer with a weakness for sweet smiles, loud laughter, drive, passion, and tattoos. Oh, and a great ass never hurt, either. As a New England native who is now living the California dream, I have a great blend of East Coast and West Coast mentalities. And, while I am (happily) in a committed relationship nowadays, I have plenty of dating and relationship stories and insight to share. Check out my blog to read some oldies but goodies or, better yet, track me down on Twitter Twitter and Facebook to keep up with latest shenanigans. xoxo xoxo La Petite Provocateur

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