Tuesday, March 14, 2017

Welp.


I was scheduled to go out with the Deja Vu for a second date but, as per usual, I ended up canceling. I had liked him well enough when we went out, but I'm not looking to jump into anything, and it seemed he was pretty intent on Girlfriending me.

So I did the mature thing - panicked and disappeared.

Getting back out there? Yes. Rushing into another relationship? God no.

The irony that I get easily overwhelmed with that much attention from men, considering how desperate and needy I was for attention from my boyfriend, is not lost on me. I'd like to say you live and learn but that's a pretty solid pattern for me. Impossible to please? Apparently.

Though I prefer "cat-like" and "vaguely demanding."



I put the guys I was talking with on a brief back-burner hiatus while trying to work things out with Future Husband for approximately the 5670th time, because I am, apparently, 30-going-on-14 and I'm living through my Sweet Valley High phase.


Amazingly, despite his pattern of doing exactly the same fucking damn thing every time we got back together, he did the SAME FUCKING DAMN THING and you are just as shocked as me, my friend. 

So, finally, despite all of the binders I doodled Mrs. Future Husband on (that's time I'll never get back) I cut that shit out. 

Boom. MeMe is back on the market, for real this time. 

It's a tricky game I'm about to play. I was pretty sure that Future Husband was, legitimately, my Future Husband and the one I had been hunting for while sorting through and discarding all these other poor saps who actually care about me. I may love dating, but when it comes down to it, I'm not a relationship person, and it takes a lot to lock me down. 

Now I'm working through the realization that FH got the final boot, I'm back to square one, and I should just embrace the fact that down the road I'm probably going to end up remodeling an old farmhouse with my "good friend" Patricia and our seven cats. 

I met up with one of my Tinder fellas last weekend in my first group-setting date event. It was a bit awk. I'm not entirely sure why some people (cough cough, Karen) think it's ideal to get to know someone they've never met and are weighing potential romantic interest in while surrounded by their friends who they'd kind of prefer to be talking to, and his friend, who has a yellow raincoat for some reason and is sitting in total polite silence.

I was up front with this dude from the get-go about being out of something recently, and not looking to jump back into dating. He was nice, he was good conversation, but as usual, it just wasn't there for me, and while he said I was "fucking awesome" (he has good taste in women, too) and he would like to get together for a real date, I think he picked up on my vibe and let me flee with my friendsies.

I'll take it easy and wade into the dating pool again, most of the fish which, let's be real, I've already released back into the waters. I don't want to risk moving into something too quickly and hurting a nice dood, or sending myself into a panic by getting stuck in a dating wormhole spiral.

I've got plenty on my plate right now to keep me busy, my life is slowly (FINALLY) coming together, and Patricia and I have plans to go to the spring flea market, so really, I'm in no hurry.

Sunday, February 5, 2017

Deja Vu

New experience alert!

I'll skip over all the dramatics of my recent breakup/get back together/break up repeat situation - some of that is on my Awkward Girl Life blog, if you're interested.

I'm here now. Herro.

What is comes down to is, MeMe worried that if she sits around and feels sad too long, she's going to close up entirely. Let's review my history, where I tend to go literal YEARS in between relationships and sexual encounters (I already regret using that term and I apologize), and then every time I try to get into something new, it's like starting from scratch.

It was hard for me to work on getting my walls down and get out of Single Mode, and I feel like I made progress. I want to keep that momentum going as best I can, rather than retreat inward like I tend to do when hurt. I'm one heartache away from turning into Clint Eastwood in every movie he has made since turning 106.

Okay, done. Dealing with that on the side. Point being, I made the decision (I will potentially rapidly regret) to bounce back out there and see what happens.

Locked in a couple dates for the weekend. Can't say I hated the attention and compliments, how I do. Mama needs a little ego-boost and validation.

One of the guys I matched with I instantly recognized as someone I had spoken with before. Ah, the dangers of online dating in a small town.

He remembered me too, but thought it had been a few years since we had chatted. We skipped a few steps, seeing how we have this long history, and went right on to texting, and met for a beer.

So, according to this guy, we talked back in 2013. But not only talked, we texted. And emailed. This, it seemed to me, was a relatively serious level of online relationship chatting. It was strange we hadn't met.

I was watching him tell me this, and thinking that he did seem pretty familiar. How much of that was looking at his pics, and how much of that was....

Okay. Okay. Okay. Had I gone out with this guy before?

I ran through the extensive catalog in my head of men I had gone out with, refusing to pause and take any time to acknowledge just how extensive this catalog was becoming...

I couldn't see him in there. But then again, I drink a lot. My memory isn't great.

Uhhhhh I wanna say Steve? Oh, Claire? Sorry, girl. My bad. 

Hold the phone: was I on a second first date? Jesus Christ. Was this what my life was coming to?

Have I officially made the rounds and started over?

If you need me, I'll be crying on my porch swing and yelling at kids to get off my lawn.

Wednesday, January 28, 2015

Grey Gardens


I'm definitely feeling the dating itch again lately (not the free clinic kind of itch - the other kind).

I tried to act on this the other night, when I went out with friends and got it into my head that I was going to flirt fabulously with every cute man in the city, be fawned over adoringly by all around, and end successfully with an earnest marriage proposal which I would laughingly turn down but also never forget. Perhaps my image would later be carved into a giant block of ice in the town square. The usual.

It was brave of me, I will give myself that, but I always forget that being a forward as a female in this small city makes the natives start to sharpen their pitchforks and light their torches. Instead of reminding myself, oh yeah, this place is super backward, I simply drank more and became increasingly desperate to make them love me.

Men were literally backing away wordlessly from my approach. It's like when a strange dog runs up to you on the street, or your great-grandma tries to kiss you on the mouth.

"Hi, what's your name? Where are you going?"

Every time I got shot down I just went after the next one harder, mouth smiling but eye twitching like I was trying to drown out the Voices.

I am pretty sure by the end of the night I was giving off a strong "serial killer trying to lure people into her van" kind of vibe.

Not far off from the truth...

Luckily, I had enough drinks in my body at the time that this all seemed hilarious and not devastating.  Bless you, alcohol, for all the marvelous things that you do.

Last weekend I finally wrangled some time off to go see my friends across the state. We started out grabbing cocktails downtown, near a certain campus. We drank, we had a nice dinner, we grabbed some more cocktails at a place we had never been, and staked out the dance floor, feeling ready to move.

Cropped up at the edge, watching the young and outrageously tall slim college girls dancing in various ways that made me embarrassed for them (but seemed to be working to secure men-folk in their vicinity), I began to realize that my days in the sexual sun were waning.

Now, I ain't mad about it. I've always known this day would come. I think I've enjoyed my peak more than anyone has any right to, considering I never expected to get one at all - let alone such a long and enjoyable one. I'm ready to step aside and let these crop-topped Yetis have their moment of glory.

I was more than happy to dance on the sidelines like a Fun Aunt, holding my cocktail and periodically yelling stuff like, "I DON'T KNOW THIS SONG AT ALL! DO YOU KNOW THIS SONG?" and "THE MUSIC IS SO LOUD I CAN'T EVEN HEAR MYSELF THINK!" or "I WISH I HAD JUST WORN FLATS, MY HEELS ARE PINCHING!"

So anyway. The next night we went to a different city, one not directly in a college town, where the vibe was a weird but perfect mix of yuppie young adults on first dates trying to prove that they can be fun, and enormous groups of black girls actually having fun. We found a small club hidden behind a curtain, where the girls were riding a mechanical bull and screeching in delight, and the yuppies were bobbing stiffly along to music that I actually recognized.

Better yet, there were Go-Go dancers and poles. Anyone who knows me knows that, while I am one of the most enthusiastically shitty dancers out there, I have some internal magnet that guides me to every available pole. The Internet is full of untagged pictures of me trying my damnedest to look like I know what I'm doing.

If I just... grab right here... and maybe... turn ninety degrees to the left...

I don't. 

Anyway. What I'm trying to get at here was that, after some trial and error, we almost-thirties found a place where we fit in and could still have fun ignoring our approaching middle age with like-minded individuals. 

And none of the men seemed scared of me (until they saw me on the pole. That effectively killed my chances of getting laid). 

So, while I do have a hankering to go out on a few dates, part of me says I should just wait until I make the big move, whenever that will be, and head to the magical land where the men text back, have the perfect amount of scruff, and don't flee at my approach. 

But then again... what fun would that be?


Monday, January 12, 2015

I'm Back, Bitches

Miss me?

I missed you. 

Do you even know how many adventures I've had this past almost-year that I wanted to share with you and couldn't? No, you don't. Like, I dated a guy who lived in his car. IN HIS CAR. And I didn't get to tell you all about it. I almost wonder what the point was.

I certainly had my reasons for retiring Kissing Frogs, but now I have equal reasons for bringing it back.

1) I want to. It's fun.

2) Apparently, if I do not document my dating experiences, my likelihood of staying at home in pajamas drinking alone from 11am-midnight increases substantially.


3) My ability to interact with the opposite sex has suffered. I underestimated how much less weird dating on the reg makes me. Apparently I waver violently between Ice Queen and Outrageously Aggressive if I am not kept in the social game. 

4) Friends are beginning to express concern regarding the caliber of men I pursue. Apparently once someone tells you they live in their car and you just shrug and go out with them again, you're setting the bar a wee bit low.

So, here we are again. 

I'm not saying things won't be a little different. I feel like I'm here to take things a bit more seriously, and thus, the dating prospects will be screened with true vigor. I may not post as often, because I'm going to be more selective about who I go out with. Hell, I may even wait until the relationship falls apart after the standard week and a half or so before posting. 

Maybe.

I have other reasons for resurrecting the Awkward Girl. In theory, I will be moving across the state this spring, and in typical overly eager fashion, I've already updated my dating profile to reflect this change. 

Yes, those poor fools think MeMe is in their neck of the woods, lurking prettily around some corner, haunting their dreams with hints of subtle perfume (it's just my natural stank, I quit using deodorant). If they bothered to read my INTRODUCTORY PARAGRAPH they would realize that the situation is unfolding, and no, we can't meet at four for coffee because I literally live hours away. I just want to see what's out there. 

Ah, what's out there. Same shit different day, as they say. 

But this shit is just way more attractive. Seriously. All of my speculation about dating in a bigger city is proving to be correct - the bottom of the barrel is still vomit-inducing, but the mid-range, compared to what I'm used to, is top notch. Don't even get me going on the ones that really catch the eye. I feel like I'm sending fan mail to movie stars.  

He's like a solid 8 where I live. And his friend on the left ain't so bad either.

They're largely still idiots, but I guess that comes of trolling for singles on a free dating site. Crazy bitches and idiots hoping to find that spark.

So stay tuned.

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

I started this blog approximately two years ago for several purposes, which, at the time, included getting past my first experience with heartache.

Key, however, was using this Dating Experiment as a way to accelerate all of those dating experiences I missed during pivotal developmental years (mostly because I wasn't doing the correct physical developing and no one wanted to date me during said years).

If your biggest relationships developed from friendships, it's painfully hard to get to know someone from scratch - especially for introverted, highly walled Awkward Girls like myself. Worse, it's hard to let someone get to know you. This seemed a fun and clever way to broadcast the horrifying but relatable task of learning how to do this. I can look it over, I can laugh, and best, I can share it with you guys.

I've rambled and gone off-topic and completely lost sight of what this blog had originally intended to be, but I've absolutely loved writing it, and I've loved you. I can't believe how many of you, those I know and those I don't, show an active interest in my tragic love life. Whenever I get a message thanking me for writing because it's helping you through your own bumbling attempts to fish through the weirdos, I can't even believe how happy and how lucky I am that I'm making some small positive impact on you.

It blows my damn mind, y'all.

And it's helped me too, of course. It's made me more confident in my writing and my relationships, and in myself, and I've felt your support and encouragement. That's priceless.

Lately, however, life threw a little wrench in my biznatch. I met someone, organically, that I actually liked. The total package, as they say. A game changer.

And all of my two years of self-training went out the window. I reverted back to the most Awkward of girls. I lost all my self confidence and assurance, and frankly, a lot of weight, out of sheer anxiety. I quit being the chill, funny, comfortable person I know that I am, and I became really fucking weird.

Not surprisingly, it was off-putting, and I messed it up.

Why?

I can't say entirely. So much success in life comes from who's in your corner, and I found out a lot about who is, or isn't, rooting for me. Frankly, I discovered a shocking lack of faith in my close circle that might have really just hammered that final nail in.

But I can only blame others so much.

I am myself  - and I am awesome, and smart, and truly kind. I love who I am. I love that I cry about everything, and that I pick up any animal I find on the side of the road. I love that sometimes I'm clever and sassy and sometimes I'm goofy and a total dope and can't get the right word out. I love that I'm a terrible dancer and that I'm embarrassingly bad at math. I love that I'm a fierce protector of those I care for, and that I'm learning, gradually, that it's okay to be vulnerable. I make stupid faces and I laugh like I smoke a pack a day, sometimes with a snort. I'm moody and forgetful and jealous, and honest and generous and sympathetic, and I really like to sit by the lamp and trim my split ends one by one, so sue me. I have clawed my way through a rocky life and I have come out on top, and I respect the hell out of myself for doing so. I've been hurt by a lot of people, but who hasn't?

We're all fighting battles, but the worst thing we can do is fight ourselves. I know that now.

So it's not all bad. I know now that elusive feeling I've been searching for exists, and that I really can be stupid creepy insane about someone. This might not have been exactly what I wanted, but it was the closest I've come, and it's given me a shining beacon of optimism that things can really work out the way I've always dreamed. I honestly didn't know I was capable of feeling this way and knowing I can is amazing. For all of those that think I'm cold, prudish, and incapable of emotion, I bite my thumb at you. You made me think it too, but now I know you are wrong. And I was wrong. I was settling for the level of happiness I thought I deserved, and now I realize I deserve so much more.

What I'm saying, my loves, you marvelous people who have been in my corner, is that I learned a lot about myself in a short period of time, and I learned that this is not the way to do things. I must embrace that I, too, deserve great things, and stop dragging my feet on my journey.

Therefore, I am calling a wrap to The Awkward Girl's Guide to Dating. How can I guide you lovely people when everything I thought I was learning turned out to be crap? I can keep kissing frogs all I want, but that's just distraction. It's time to rise up.

Go forth, be strong, and be yourselves. It's hard as fuck but you deserve it.

Saturday, February 22, 2014

The Double Date

And boom goes the dynamite… Another round of dating completed.

When we last saw MeMe, it was Valentine's Day and she had recently broken up with Future Husband #2. She was not eager to return to the dating scene, but recognizing that if she did not, it was unlikely she would ever again. Sweatpants and cat sweaters would be the inevitable conclusion if she failed to socialize with the male species and instead locked herself away in a high basement and never spoke to anyone ever again because she doan wanna just slip a sandwich under the door and be on your way.


In an effort to stave off vaginal cobwebs, I returned to my OKC account, uploaded a few stunnah pics, removed my firm suggestion that if you aren't looking for friendship you should go blow yourself, and hopped back on the market. 

Success on dating sites seems to come in waves. Waves that are few and far between. Generally when I've just completed a terrible date and my mindset has returned to "Screw men! I love my life and I hate everyone else" I will get a flux of attractive men who can more or less communicate, and my commitment to Hatred wavers.

No, no… no… HOLD THE PHONE HE'S FROM BRAZIL?

However on the opposite but more usual end of the spectrum, whenever I start looking for someone who I might actually be interested in going out with, OKC throws the worst of the worst at me. Blowjob requests, spelling that seriously shames the American school districts, an entire inability to make any sense whatsoever, or just downright (sorry boys) hideous.

The ugly ones of course tend to be the only ones capable of formulating a comprehensible sentence. That is the cruelty of the Universe.

Once in a while I'll stumble upon someone not only delicious, but with an excellent profile, and realize that OKC fucked up my settings again and is pulling me desirables from many states away. You know where the gorgeous men are? California and New York, go figure. Road trip? Um, for sight seeing.

So I've been responding very little to the messages on my account.

One guy, Designer, messaged me with a very nice introduction. He was not my usual type looks-wise, but not a bad-looking guy. However, I thought, upon first perusal, that he might make a better fit for my friend, also on the dating site. I sent her along his profile and asked if she'd be interested, and was told nope and to go for it.

So I messaged Designer back, and he was very eager to communicate with me. Long paragraphs I just have not had the time to respond to, what with being very busy lately and also all the Netflix I've been watching. I didn't have the energy to respond with the same enthusiasm, so in an effort to stave off conversation I sent him my number and we agreed to go out the next week.

The conversation continued, however, via text. Long long texts that really were distracting me from watching the same season of "Community" eight times. I responded succinctly. "Like a man" might have been noted by someone exploring our back-and-forth… typical. This is certainly not the first time I've been "the man" in the dating world.

As our drinks date rolled around, I was just not feeling it. Going out and talking to people I don't know? Being in public? Shaving my legs (just kidding - like I'd shave my legs in winter)? It all seemed like a lot of work when I could stay inside and be fabulous by eating until I fall asleep in front of TBS.

You can't handle it.

Luckily, aforementioned friend was going on a second date, and invited me and Designer to join. After some internal debate about whether that would be a better or worse environment (talking to THREE people is much harder than just one), I agreed. Designer agreed, and all was well. I bought myself bright red lipstick as incentive to go out, and we made the drive to a neighboring city that is way cooler than this shithole to meet ze boys.

Designer was, I am happy to say, a much more pleasant date than I had expected. He was polite and charming, and his questions translated much better in person than they did in text. He's intelligent, funny, and overall quite the gentleman. Still not my "type" (hipster pirate), but not bad looking by any means.

Unfortunately for my friend, her date was a dud. I can't invoke any particular comments, because I didn't have any desire to listen to him speak. Once he became fixated on the fact that I was the oldest one in the group, he lost any sympathy I might have had for him. Difficult to ditch, and too dense to take a hint, he clung to the group, who was otherwise having a nice time enjoying good food and some martinis at a great place Designer guided us to.

Finally it was time to head home, and I gave Designer an awkward car-hug as I drove him to his vehicle, with my now drunk friend giggling hilariously in the front seat, as instead of forcing conversation with her dud she had chosen to spend a nice evening getting closer to whiskey.

Driving home began the conversation - Giggles (sorry, love, that's now your blog name) groaned and laughed about the horrible awkwardness that had been her rude and socially inept date, while we discussed how well Designer had done.

The problem: No true spark, as usual. An enjoyable night most certainly, but I didn't exactly want to rip his clothes off. Giggles, on the other hand, was more enthusiastic. I'm going to go ahead and pat myself on the back for making that initial suggestion the two of them would be a good fit.

And they would, too. It was in the back of my mind while Designer talked - they would have been adorable together.

Thus it was established that somehow, some way, Designer and Giggles should be set up, while I stepped back and maybe pretended I was gay now or something. I'm not really sure what genius plan could be concocted to force the two together (honesty?), but I'm working on it.

After one text thanking me for a fun night, however, I have yet to hear from Designer.

Perhaps I needn't worry that he was irreversibly stunned by my wit and red lips after all, leaving the gate more than open for Giggles to swoop in. Unless he is simply participating in the antiquated Three Day Rule.

Spoiler, men: If you wait three whole days to contact me, by then I've literally forgotten who you are. I'm not exaggerating. By day three you have ceased to exist. Do not adhere to this stupid rule if you want to actually take the girl out.

So, we shall wait and see, and in the meantime I'll press my fingertips together in my swivel chair and try to mastermind a plot to get these crazy kids together.

And they'll live happily every after MWAHAHAHAHAHA!

Friday, February 14, 2014

Everything's Red, Blood Red…

Happy Valentine's Day!



And I'm not even being facetious! As discussed in last year's Valentine's Day post, I love VD, whether I'm single or happily committed. You can go ahead and quote me on that.

This year, as usual, I fall into the "single as fuck" category on the most romantic day of the year.



Future Husband #2 and I made it about a month before I put the kibosh on that one. Long story short, I've recently upgraded my Jerk Policy to "No Tolerance." At the first sign of jerkiness, I'm cutting my losses. Call me crazy all you want, but I've wasted too much of my time on this crap already.

Jerk me once, shame on you… jerk me twice, shame on me for not listening to my instincts the first time and sticking around despite my better judgement. Again, feel free to quote me on that. I'm full of gems this evening.

One disappointment I am facing on this V Day is the lack of messages in my newly reactivated OKC account. Usually, the entire week of Valentine's Day (or Sweetest Day, whatever that is), I'm bombarded with messages begging me for my love and attention, which I of course refuse to respond to because that sort of desperation is very unattractive. BUT WHERE ARE THEY THIS YEAR? WHY AREN'T THEY TALKING TO ME?

I'm a wee bit torn as how to spend my evening this year. Generally, the options are:

1) Get the other single gals together, doll all the hell up, and go grab some cocktails at the bar while smiling at men and then brutally shooting them down whenever they try to approach us.



2) Get the other single gals together and eat brownie batter out of a communal bowl while chugging wine from the bottle and screaming profanities at some romantic movie where everyone dies in the end.

Unfortunately for me, all you bitches got hooked up this month, and don't have time for either. I'm also way too tired and lazy to doll the fuck up tonight. I've been painting my new place for approximately half of my life and I can barely lift my arms let alone squeeze my winter ass into a red dress and curl my hair.

I can't even stay home and cry into a bowl of brownies this year; I'm off gluten and my new place doesn't have furniture yet. So basically I'd be sitting on the floor in the corner eating a sweet potato in sweatpants and unwashed hair. That just doesn't have the same romantic appeal.

Ideally, I can arrange some combination of the traditional options - maybe grab some cocktails in my sweatpants, and later drunk text an ex or two, or that crush who I tell everyone I'm totally over. I'm pretty tired and cranky today so I could really cross hard into belligerent, and that's an opportunity I don't want to waste.

If a single gal can't get shit-faced and rude on Valentine's Day, than this is not America.

Feb. 15th: National Apologize to Your Liver Day

It doesn't really matter. Tomorrow is the true holiday - when all that chocolate goes half off, and I feast like a friggen goddess.

However you're spending the day, I hope you're enjoying it! <3