It's so over

The question: Were the Highlander and I ready to go away for a weekend together? The answer: No. At least, there won't be any weekends away in our future, nor will there be any "us" in the future.

Things got off to a pretty good start. We got to the beach in the evening, went for a little stroll, plopped ourselves down on a beach blanket, and sat there until it got dark. When I woke up the next morning, I was wearing little more than beard burn over most of my body.

Sunday was back and forth. For a guy from Southern California, who just the previous night had told me seeing the beach felt like home, he had zero interest in the beach. First of all, he forgot his swim trunks. (And I suspect he didn't so much as forget them as intentionally not pack them.) He thought it was too hot (which is kind of the point of going to the beach) and too sunny. Forgive me for being confused, but isn't hot and sunny the goal? Sunday had its good points, but by the end of the day, I was v. frustrated and confused, and felt a bit like I had dragged him on a weekend trip he didn't want to take.

Everything came to a head that evening, as I was trying to teach him a card game. (Grayer, you know the one.) He wasn't really listening to my directions, but then he laid his cards down, announcing he had three of a kind. In his hand, were a king, a five, and joker. (Joker's wild.) He thought that equaled three of a kind because they were all diamonds. Now, I'm not much of a card player (this particular game is really the only one I know), but even I know what a three of a kind is. That started one argument, which led to another, which led to me saying, "well, maybe we shouldn't see each other anymore."

In all honesty, I've known he wasn't The One for me for awhile. Maybe it was when he told me Dumb and Dumber was his all-time favorite movie. Maybe it was when I went over to his house late one night to find him wearing pajama pants and slippers. In the summer. Maybe it was when he told me he had just driven across the street to pick up his Chinese food because it was raining. (That's when I told him about this wonderful invention called the umbrella that protects you from the rain.) I'm not exactly sure which of these incidents popped my bubble, but it had to have been one of them.

And to continue my streak of honesty, if he hadn't stepped up to the plate during my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week, we probably wouldn't have gotten to this point. Let's face it, had I not needed a distraction from my John Boy snub, he probably wouldn't have gotten past the third date. He works with computers, which is boring. He's not incredibly funny. And as we know from the three of a kind incident (and many others) he's not all that intelligent. In fact, I worried that I may have been too smart for him, but kept telling myself that I was being an intellectual snob when I had no right to be one, as I'm not an Ivy League graduate, nor a card carrying member of Mensa.

Sunday night could not have been more different than Saturday night, as we slept on opposite sides of the king-sized bed, although he did reach over to give me a hug in the middle of the night, apparently in reaction to a dream he was having. I expected Monday to be awkward and horrible, but it wasn't. It was actually very relaxed and pleasant. Maybe because we were both relieved? Maybe we knew we couldn't get annoyed with each other since we were no longer auditioning each other as significant others? Either way, it was far from horrible, and he even asked me if I wanted to talk about anything when we got home. I told him we would talk tomorrow, when he comes to pick up his cat.

But I know that we're just too different to work out in the long run, which is a shame, especially as this break-up occurs on the doorstep of another birthday. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go call a certain someone whose name rhymes with Luke Mogan...