Sunday soup

People ask me all the time, "What's new?" And I answer honestly, "Nothing really." It's true - I've had the same apartment, the same job, the same social status for going on three years, now. Yet the end of this week brought a number of surprising news announcements, and while some of it won't affect me directly, it sure seems like change is in the air.

One friend's boyfriend's father died, leaving a sorrow-filled hole in their close family. Another friend gave notice on both her job and apartment, and announced she'd be moving to San Diego within the month. A third friend, after a year of struggling financially, got a shiny new job and passed an exam that will greatly affect her income.

There's also been a lot of social activity lately. I feel like I'm meeting guys much more frequently and naturally than I have in a long time, but the last two losers I went out with have soured me on dating for a while.

I met Finance Guy at this party, and we met up the next Friday night. Finance Guy was from Long Island, used to work on Wall Street, and clearly embraced the "work hard, play hard" mentality I used to see so frequently in New York. We met at a restaurant near his place for dinner, and each ordered a glass of wine. We both liked it, so he suggested ordering a bottle. I didn't think we would drink that much, but whatever, from our conversation, I knew he'd be paying for it.

At the end of dinner, I still had half a glass left so we moved to the bar where we could continue talking and he could continue drinking. Because suddenly that seemed like his job. He started drinking with a vengeance, throwing back vodka tonics with no regard for the fact that he had driven there or that I had switched to water. After all, I was driving, and, um, on a date. As he got more inebriated, he started dropping hints about how much money he had (and by hints, I mean zeros), started throwing $20s at the bartender, and basically horrifying me to the point that I was embarrassed to be there. I finally convinced him to go, to leave his car there and I'd drop him off at his condo. As atrocious as his behavior, I couldn't let him get behind the wheel. But I didn't rush to return his call the next day when he couldn't remember where to find it.

Mr. Nice Guy, as I probably should have anticipated, turned into Mr. Crazy Guy. The week I got back from Cabo I told him that I just didn't feel a connection with him. He didn't take it too well, but we ended on a nice note and I thought that was that. He then proceeded to call or text me at least once a week, asking to take me to lunch, or dinner, or just to see what was up. I usually replied curtly or not at all. He never got the hint. Monday he left a message just to say hi. I didn't return the call. Thursday he called again, didn't leave a message. Friday afternoon he called again (!) asking if I was free Sat, he'd like to take me to dinner. Fed up, I texted him that I am not trying to be mean but I am not interested and would appreciate if he would please stop calling.

He called right back; I let it go to voice mail. He left a nasty message that reminded me of the pranks high school boys used to play back before we had Caller ID. The sixth-grade teacher, it turns out, is no more mature than his students. And could probably learn a thing or two about taking a hint.

When all this happened, I immediately regretted not ending things with him sooner, like after our second date. I should have known, I thought. He was too nice to be true. Not only that, but there was something about him that kind of creeped me out, but I pushed those instincts away because he just seemed so nice, thinking I should give him another chance. I don't think I'm one of those girls that's desperate or that aches to see the good in people - I don't think I was being blind to anything obvious. But the next time the little voice inside my head starts talking, I need to remember to listen.

Which is why I am going to cancel my upcoming dentist appointment. I haven't been to the dentist in almost a year because I left my last appointment feeling like something about the doctor was shady. It wasn't just that he used my chest and neck as a shelf for his dental tools, or that he gave me a hard sell on Invisalign, but I left the office with the uneasy feeling like maybe he'd been lying to me - maybe I didn't need those sealants or that $pecial fluoride rin$e. I left feeling dirty and dumb and quite possibly taken advantage of, although I could never quite put my finger on the problem.

So why did I make an appointment to go back to him at all? Well, because I had that other issue with my first dentist, so I convinced myself that maybe I'm the one with the problem. I must be imagining these things, making them up, because, really, how many problems can one person have at the dentist? I mean, that aren't even related to my teeth? I'm afraid if I keep hopping around, trying practice after practice, I'll be blacklisted as a tough patient, a dental slut, a literal, twisted embodiment of the vagina dentata.

But now, thanks to Mr. Crazytown, I am going to trust my instincts and go back to the drawing board and look for my third dentist in as many years. This is as exhausting as dating. And I end up with the bill.