I feel like a lesson that I learn over and over again is that I really need to trust my gut instincts. 

I had started talking to this guy named James for several weeks, and we seemed to get along quite splendidly. He made jokes, I giggled like a freaking idiot, and then I made hilarious quips back to which he replied with his boyish “hehe’s” and “LMAO’s.” But for some reason, I frequently would get a weird sense of heebie-jeebies that I couldn’t quite explain. Nonetheless, I brushed off the feeling as soon as it arrived, and proceeded to get to know this guy.

I have this tendency to cyber-stalk every potential date, and I’m pretty damn good at finding the most random shit on a guy. That’s a whole different blog post though, I’m afraid. Anyway, back to this story. I was looking through an old Flickr account that James had when suddenly, a chill ran down my spine and I uttered out loud, “Oh NO.”

The prickly sensation was back, and I knew why. Major deja vu alert. I had stalked this guy before. It was all coming back to me now, full force Celine Dion style, and I was mortified. I recalled the first time that I had talked to this guy and WHY I had stopped talking to him, which was that he was FUCKING CRAZY. This was the guy who told me that he had a list of marriage requirements, and then actually took the marriage requirements list out to read to me aloud. This was the guy who had completely bashed Christian culture and called Jesus the “devil in disguise” while laughing bitterly into my ear. This was the guy who I had an hour-long argument with about domestic violence (which by the way, he was totally in support of). This was the guy who after exactly three days of chatting and two phone conversations, I did everything in my power to delete from my life. This. Fucking. Guy.

Yet here I was, speaking in a baby voice and acting the complete fool over him. To further explain, the last I talked to James was nearly a year ago, and he had actually lost some weight. The beefy football player looked more like a lanky librarian, and his name on his profile used to be “Jim” (I seriously hate these stupid ass nicknames that aren’t similar to the original names… Robert/Bob, William/Bill, Richard/Dick, UGH). I don’t know if I should have given him a second chance, but the first impression he left on me was too deeply embedded. What shocked me the most was that out of millions of single guys out there and the tons of messages I either reject or accept every week, I had to recycle him. Was the universe telling me something? Was I running out of single guys to talk to? Did I need to move to a new city with a fresh batch of men? I remember feeling sick in my stomach and not touching any of my dating apps for a couple weeks.

I’ll never doubt you ever again, squishy gut.