Wait, wait, wait... Wait. Did MeMe just have a good date?
With someone who actually is attractive and also happens to not be four inches shorter than claiming on their profile?
... Apparently one just has to give up hope entirely.
Even better than the fact that he was incredibly cute head-on... and then he'd turn just-so and hit the perfect angle and becoming what I like to call "shockingly attractive holy shit..." he was super interesting and seemed totally unaware of how much I was daydreaming about boning him.
He's a nerdy hipster pirate with an interest in sociology and the human mind and one of those people who gets so caught up in a project they forget to eat. I don't think I've ever forgotten to eat in my life. I eat while planning my next meal. I suddenly feel like I'd be way cooler if I got so intense I forgot to eat... but low blood sugar on my part results in destruction and death for those around me so I'll settle for developing my alcoholism. That's sort of interesting too.
Still waiting to hear from him and get that all-important follow-up contact, though we talked for two hours, took a walk, and he mentioned meeting again so I feel pretty confident all is well--which probably means he won't call.
Or has finally recognized that he is gay will only call to thank me. Dammit!
If he does contact, I will certainly meet him again and see how it goes. This has definitely been the best date I've been on thus far, and the only one I'm actually eager to see again. I want to skip over the awkward getting-to-know-you stage and just lay my head on his chest while we stare at the stars and do other ridiculously annoying romantic crap because he's just. that. cute.
Huzzah!
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Saturday, May 18, 2013
To Everything... Turn... Turn... The Lights Off and Go Away.
To my loyal readers:
I apologize for dropping off the face of the earth again. I've been so terribly busy, rushing to and fro, recording documents, scanning, faxing, dialing... okay, whatever, fine. I dropped my laptop and then about fifteen minutes later dumped a margarita on it for good measure. Don't worry though; I had more margarita on hand. Crisis. Averted.
There is a Season:
Turning 25 for the third time this year, I've learned a few things.
ONE: No, you can't spend the whole month binge-eating pizza and burgers and then expect to eat a salad one day and drop five pounds. Your body has finally turned on you. Your glory days are gone, and you SQUANDERED them you terrific fool! God bless your oddly youthful face; all is not lost.
TWO: You will start saying stupid shit like 'they seem like such a nice family!' and meaning it. You will also read ingredient lists while grocery shopping to avoid aggravating your lactose sensitivity or prompting heartburn. Probably while parking your cart in the middle of the aisle with joyful obtuseness and smiling at babies.
THREE: More cats will show up. You can walk down the street, and cats just fall into line behind you. They can sense that you're single and know that it is only a matter of time before you doze off in an armchair and they can chew off your face. Keep extra bags of food handy and take short naps to maintain vigilance.
FOUR: Suddenly, a night on the town seems like a lot of work. You know what sounds fun? A mellow night in with friends. Possibly a board game and some mixed drinks. You can have fun, be in bed by nine and you don't have to worry about avoiding sunlight and loud noises for the next six days. Doesn't that sound nice?
And then there's FIVE, where you realize that you're suddenly an adult and your entire life is now moving you toward a "future." You've got a real job that pays you this amazing thing called a "salary," and your days of watching TBS until the wee hours of the morning are screeching to an end. You now own a twill dress and a jacket and you're working on an air of quiet authority. Most horrifyingly, you're stuck between joy that the bills will be paid and you won't always live in your mom's basement and you can buy a car that isn't held together with duct-tape... and a clenching worry that you're turning away from the things that are important to you. Like watching TBS until the wee hours of the morning because you're feeling "artistic."
Worse, the weather is changing, and, as a female, sights, smells and even a specific temperature prompt memories from random moments in your life. Remember that one time you played hide-and-seek with your brother in the field outside a red church and it was of absolutely no importance or note? You do now.
Lately, to my chagrin, it's been those "happy" moments I shared with Thing Two... when what is now "crazy" he still considered "fun" and "challenging."
And I want to be able to sit and absorb these moments from my first dabble into love, but then I'm reminded that Thing Two sure as hell isn't wasting his time thinking about how we had a few laughs... he's too busy with the new girlfriend he picked up the moment we ended (or just slightly before, still not quite solid on that timeline which is a constant source of frustration...) so any effort I may put into reminiscing seems entirely wasted and I hate wasting my time unless it's by playing video games or blacking out after too many cocktails.
I think what's confusing is that, with the rest of my life finally on track, I'm ready for a real relationship. Yes, I've had to squeeze about ten years' worth of dating experiences into the past few months, and yes, I've probably acted like a sixteen-year-old for most of them as I've tried to absorb how the social mating process works after years of celibacy inflicted by braces and acne while I developed a "personality" and crippling phobias about opening up to people.
But, as stupid as this whole experiment may appear to an outsider, it's done its job. I can small talk, I share my feelings, I make extended eye contact, and I'm comfortable with physical contact.
So, I've gotten all that weirdness out of the way, and with warm weather here, I'm ready for someone to rub my shoulders after a long day of work and take me out for a nice dinner (he's so sensitive!). I want to do relationship-y things... like not talk for long periods of time, possibly while sitting on a porch swing. Make comments about the weather. Discuss varicose veins and the dangers of sun radiation. Maybe gently argue politics then fall asleep during sex.
As you may have picked up on by now, I go through phases: Desperately Want a Relationship phases, which lead to a few awkward dates, which lead to Thank God I'm Single, I Never Want One of These Morons to Think They Own Me phases. So this was only a matter of time.
In an effort to pull the rest of my life together and put myself on the track to a pretty diamond, two chocolate labs and a summer house in the country, I've reconnected with those men otherwise ignored on my dating website.
And so, inevitably, I went after the hottest ones first. Tomorrow I have a coffee date with a guy who is incredibly, smoking hot (if his pictures don't lie)... like, way, way out of my league, but who likes small dogs and is afraid of cats. I figure that balances him out. Makes it less of a challenge.
He and I seem to run the pattern of forgetting about each other, texting a lot, forgetting, and then marveling that we still haven't gotten together. I get busy, he goes on a tour of the states to film a documentary. Etc. He's cool, that's the point of that story. He films documentaries. That almost makes up for being afraid of cats.
Thank God that while I was sitting outside (drinking) thinking about past relationships and how much I hope they're miserable without me when the sudden reminder of this hot guy and his interest hit, and I contacted him and we made an actual official date.
Gerard Butler guy has messaged a few times trying to get together, but, while I considered it, there wasn't enough there for me to feel like struggling to make conversation for an hour (although he did offer to pay, per my comment that I couldn't go out until my check came in).
So, we'll see how tomorrow (coffee date) goes. If not well, then let's pray I become entirely absorbed in having a career and forget my recent urge to date again.
At least I can now afford, with some frugality, to regularly hire an attractive male prostitute to tell me I'm pretty and pretend that our lovemaking is entirely about the emotional connection. So much an improvement, and definitely worth the extra cash.
I apologize for dropping off the face of the earth again. I've been so terribly busy, rushing to and fro, recording documents, scanning, faxing, dialing... okay, whatever, fine. I dropped my laptop and then about fifteen minutes later dumped a margarita on it for good measure. Don't worry though; I had more margarita on hand. Crisis. Averted.
There is a Season:
Turning 25 for the third time this year, I've learned a few things.
ONE: No, you can't spend the whole month binge-eating pizza and burgers and then expect to eat a salad one day and drop five pounds. Your body has finally turned on you. Your glory days are gone, and you SQUANDERED them you terrific fool! God bless your oddly youthful face; all is not lost.
TWO: You will start saying stupid shit like 'they seem like such a nice family!' and meaning it. You will also read ingredient lists while grocery shopping to avoid aggravating your lactose sensitivity or prompting heartburn. Probably while parking your cart in the middle of the aisle with joyful obtuseness and smiling at babies.
THREE: More cats will show up. You can walk down the street, and cats just fall into line behind you. They can sense that you're single and know that it is only a matter of time before you doze off in an armchair and they can chew off your face. Keep extra bags of food handy and take short naps to maintain vigilance.
FOUR: Suddenly, a night on the town seems like a lot of work. You know what sounds fun? A mellow night in with friends. Possibly a board game and some mixed drinks. You can have fun, be in bed by nine and you don't have to worry about avoiding sunlight and loud noises for the next six days. Doesn't that sound nice?
And then there's FIVE, where you realize that you're suddenly an adult and your entire life is now moving you toward a "future." You've got a real job that pays you this amazing thing called a "salary," and your days of watching TBS until the wee hours of the morning are screeching to an end. You now own a twill dress and a jacket and you're working on an air of quiet authority. Most horrifyingly, you're stuck between joy that the bills will be paid and you won't always live in your mom's basement and you can buy a car that isn't held together with duct-tape... and a clenching worry that you're turning away from the things that are important to you. Like watching TBS until the wee hours of the morning because you're feeling "artistic."
Worse, the weather is changing, and, as a female, sights, smells and even a specific temperature prompt memories from random moments in your life. Remember that one time you played hide-and-seek with your brother in the field outside a red church and it was of absolutely no importance or note? You do now.
Lately, to my chagrin, it's been those "happy" moments I shared with Thing Two... when what is now "crazy" he still considered "fun" and "challenging."
And I want to be able to sit and absorb these moments from my first dabble into love, but then I'm reminded that Thing Two sure as hell isn't wasting his time thinking about how we had a few laughs... he's too busy with the new girlfriend he picked up the moment we ended (or just slightly before, still not quite solid on that timeline which is a constant source of frustration...) so any effort I may put into reminiscing seems entirely wasted and I hate wasting my time unless it's by playing video games or blacking out after too many cocktails.
I think what's confusing is that, with the rest of my life finally on track, I'm ready for a real relationship. Yes, I've had to squeeze about ten years' worth of dating experiences into the past few months, and yes, I've probably acted like a sixteen-year-old for most of them as I've tried to absorb how the social mating process works after years of celibacy inflicted by braces and acne while I developed a "personality" and crippling phobias about opening up to people.
But, as stupid as this whole experiment may appear to an outsider, it's done its job. I can small talk, I share my feelings, I make extended eye contact, and I'm comfortable with physical contact.
So, I've gotten all that weirdness out of the way, and with warm weather here, I'm ready for someone to rub my shoulders after a long day of work and take me out for a nice dinner (he's so sensitive!). I want to do relationship-y things... like not talk for long periods of time, possibly while sitting on a porch swing. Make comments about the weather. Discuss varicose veins and the dangers of sun radiation. Maybe gently argue politics then fall asleep during sex.
As you may have picked up on by now, I go through phases: Desperately Want a Relationship phases, which lead to a few awkward dates, which lead to Thank God I'm Single, I Never Want One of These Morons to Think They Own Me phases. So this was only a matter of time.
In an effort to pull the rest of my life together and put myself on the track to a pretty diamond, two chocolate labs and a summer house in the country, I've reconnected with those men otherwise ignored on my dating website.
And so, inevitably, I went after the hottest ones first. Tomorrow I have a coffee date with a guy who is incredibly, smoking hot (if his pictures don't lie)... like, way, way out of my league, but who likes small dogs and is afraid of cats. I figure that balances him out. Makes it less of a challenge.
He and I seem to run the pattern of forgetting about each other, texting a lot, forgetting, and then marveling that we still haven't gotten together. I get busy, he goes on a tour of the states to film a documentary. Etc. He's cool, that's the point of that story. He films documentaries. That almost makes up for being afraid of cats.
Thank God that while I was sitting outside (drinking) thinking about past relationships and how much I hope they're miserable without me when the sudden reminder of this hot guy and his interest hit, and I contacted him and we made an actual official date.
Gerard Butler guy has messaged a few times trying to get together, but, while I considered it, there wasn't enough there for me to feel like struggling to make conversation for an hour (although he did offer to pay, per my comment that I couldn't go out until my check came in).
So, we'll see how tomorrow (coffee date) goes. If not well, then let's pray I become entirely absorbed in having a career and forget my recent urge to date again.
At least I can now afford, with some frugality, to regularly hire an attractive male prostitute to tell me I'm pretty and pretend that our lovemaking is entirely about the emotional connection. So much an improvement, and definitely worth the extra cash.
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