It started with the best first date I’d had in a long time. After doing a motorcycle-ride-of-shame from my ex’s, I decided to clean myself up and finally go out with this guy I met on Tinder. At approximately 3pm, I headed to his trendy Brooklyn neighborhood with my fake “tentative plans” for later that evening, in case I needed an exit strategy. He took me to a few really cool bars, a cheese store (I love cheese!), a hotel rooftop bar, more bars, and dinner. We talked about everything- Family, relationships… Life. We both talked about our strong desire to have children someday… It’s a Latin thing. (He was Peruvian and Venezuelan.)
We went to another bar where we dominated another couple at shuffleboard, played skeeball, and had our first kiss. Yeah, we were those people. I HATE those people, but that Latin heat got the best of both of us and we weren’t sorry about it. Eight hours into this date, we decided to go to ONE more bar, obviously buying time, since this was our first date and we clearly didn’t want it to end. (BTW, somewhere along the way, at approximately hour 4, my “tentative plans” got cancelled 😉.) This last bar was conveniently located right next to his apartment, so obviously we ended up there. After some more making out, I decided it was time for me to go, although that was the last thing I wanted to do. He twisted my arm, I ended up staying, and the Latin heat continued to rise.
We talked every day and night and spent the following weekend together. He was taking me to meet his family that Sunday (yes, after one week… #redflag) but we accidentally spent all night and morning unable to keep our hands off of each other, so instead, he was going to make me breakfast in bed. He bragged about how his specialty was homemade waffles, so he went out to the store to buy all of the ingredients, while I laid around in his robe, basking in post-coital bliss. He returned, showed me how to make waffles ,(and even got me Nutella, my favorite), so naturally I had to Instagram the finished product. We spent the rest of the day in bed together, before I had to leave to do a show. And that’s how it went for about a month. Weekends were our thing.
Until one weekend came and went, and I didn’t hear from him. At all. When I finally reached out on Monday, he took a day to respond (he was always an instant responder), with a series of stories about how he hurt his foot during crossfit (#redflag), his uncle had a medical emergency, and work wascrazy. I took it all with a grain of salt, and he continued to apologize. He began texting me incessantly, once again, and liking all of my Instagram photos. He told me missed me and wanted to see me, yet wasn’t making plans with me, and I would continuously get texts about how he wished I was lying next to him and wished I were in his bed. Still, no plans were being made.
Fourth of July approached and I was heading to Boston for the weekend. He told me that he was leaving town with his best friend and his best friend’s wife to be the fifth wheel in upstate New York, but he wanted to see me when he got back on Sunday. I said I would be with friends visiting from LA, but we could play by ear. He proceeded to text me all weekend and begged to see me Sunday night. He texted me on his entire drive home and begged for me to meet up with him. I finally did.
At this point, we hadn’t seen each other in a couple of weeks, so I was a little stand off-ish, and still not over his radio silent episode. He immediate grabbed me and spun me around and tried to lay the biggest kiss on me, but I just gave him a little peck. We hung out and he acted like nothing had ever happened. He asked me when he could finally come see one of my shows and bring all of his friends. He also told me he wanted me to come with him to his family reunion in a couple of weeks, because he had told everyone about me. It was all very overwhelming, but at the same time everything I wanted to hear, so I chalked up his prior shadiness to the classic male “freak out,” that happens from time to time when they really like someone, or so I’m told. Everything he was saying led me to believe this was going to be something and he was the kind of guy I wanted it to be something with- handsome, tall,great job, ready for a family, didn’t do drugs, and the sex was absolutely electric. JACKPOT!
The following week, I had more LA friends visiting. One of my very best friends and her boyfriend. What a perfect time to double-date! I told Joe (he doesn’t deserve for his name to be protected, plus it’s basic, anyway) that I wanted to show them his neighborhood over the weekend and he told me he would be upstate working on a boat he had just purchased, but really wished he could come. Things seemed back to normal, but something never felt right ever since “the episode.” We texted all weekend and he kept liking all of my Instagram photos. Every single one.
That Saturday night, I was with my friends at a bar in Park Slope, when Instagram alerted me that @avg_joe86 liked several of my Instagram photos. For no particular reason, I decided to look at the Instagram feature that shows you what the people you follow have liked recently. It only shows you for a short period of time, then you can’t see it. You can’t go back and scroll through history. It is literally up for a few minutes before new activity of other followers comes through. I guess I picked the perfect moment. (Side note: anyone who knows me knows this type of behavior is very much out of my character. I’m not jealous, I’m not an online stalker, I don’t go through people’s phones… I don’t even google people before or after dates. Mostly because I really don’t care and I’m lazy.) But at that moment, I did it.
I went thorough all 8 photos of 8 different accounts of which he had liked pictures. One was a meme, one was a kid, one was a page of an unattractive woman- everything seemed very non-threatening. Then I came across another picture. It was simply a picture of a scoreboard, on which he commented, “congrats!” I continued to scroll through the profile. She was blonde with a sleeve of tattoos- the opposite of me. I knew he didn’t like blondes, since when I told him I was going lighter for the summer, he asked me, “how much lighter?”because he “didn’t like blondes,” and couldn’t date a blonde. I continued looking at her page until I saw something familiar. “That looks like MY waffle,” I thought. It was his signature waffle. His tablecloth was in the background. It was the same waffle he made me the first weekend we spent together, the day after he told me he didn’t want me to sleep with anyone else, and we agreed not to sleep with other people. The caption read, “Thank you @avg_joe86 #breakdastfordinner” and he commented “you’re welcome love.” Before I jumped to my spicy Latina conclusions, I realized it could have been just a friend or a coworker. I have tons of male friends and coworkers that I’m close with!
I continued to scroll down and found pictures of them together. SO together, that one picture had a comment from someone that read, “this picture would be better if you put a ring on it!” Through my research, I found out a couple of other things: The first picture of them together was around the same time he went radio silent, AND… ALSO… He was with her over Fourth of July, when he was allegedly “fifth wheel” and BEGGED to see me the very night he returned, to which I agreed. I never posted pictures of us because I’m not that girl. I like to keep my relationships private. (Yes, as much of a social media whore as I am, that is the one thing I keep to myself.)
I sat there, in shock. Now what? I could just not say anything and see how it would play out. I could confront him and never tell my friends (because obviously they would be VERY honest with me and not want me to see him again.) Maybe he would feel so bad, he would chose ME, and it would make us stronger and we would get over the hump and live happily ever after! But that would go against who I am as a person. I am a strong woman who has a lot to offer and deserves better. He was a man who not only disrespected my heart, but also my body, which to me is disgusting and the ultimate form of disrespect. I would never trust this person again, and he would do it again, eventually. My friend could see it on my face. “Luch, what are you looking at over there? You’re too quiet.” I showed her and everyone else everything. The initial reaction was, “maybe you’re jumping to spicy Latina conclusions”, but as soon as everyone saw the evidence, they couldn’t deny it. That was the story. It was all right there. I think he was dating both of us at the same time and could not decide. I think he wanted to like me more, but ultimately she was the girl he could mold into what he wanted. And he did. I know because I continued to stalk once or twice (MANY TIMES) since. (I’m not proud, but we all do it.) They are still together. She started doing crossfit for him and they go hunting together. Those are both things I hate, so in retrospect, he was not the guy for me, and I was not the girl for him. (For the record, I haven’t looked for months, and don’t plan to. I left that in 2015.)
SO HOW DID IT END???
Oh, right. Sorry! I was busy learning lessons!
After the discovery, I went to bed angry tossed and turned all night. How could I say something? How could I tell him how I found out??? I would look insane. And then I realized that it didn’t matter. I didn’t do ANYTHING wrong. HE did. Yes, I found out through online stalking, but he was a liar and a cheater and a sociopath, so I’m glad I found out, however it happened. So I sent this text:
I have never cried about it, it’s not even worth it, but maybe that means I never really cared. Or I’m dead inside. Probably both. I did, however, recently find myself in his neighborhood…