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.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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
Sunday, January 12, 2014
Obligatory Follow-Up
Unfortunately (for you guys), I must keep this post short… because my hang-out with Future Husband #2 was so much fun that I'm having dinner with him on Wednesday.
WUT. A second date??? Yes. Many yeses. Trying not to freak or psych myself out.
Which means that, unless things backfire entirely, I have to keep the deets under wraps… I'll have enough weirdness to deal with if this continues to work out, and he finds out his nickname is Future Husband. 'Cuz that doesn't freak guys out, they love that. He'll probably be disappointed I didn't already name our future children (Sydney for a boy OR a girl!!!)
Wish me luck. Right now I feel like a frigging schoolgirl in a classic 80's movie, and as a pessimist, I'm not totally reconciled to this experience.
WUT. A second date??? Yes. Many yeses. Trying not to freak or psych myself out.
Which means that, unless things backfire entirely, I have to keep the deets under wraps… I'll have enough weirdness to deal with if this continues to work out, and he finds out his nickname is Future Husband. 'Cuz that doesn't freak guys out, they love that. He'll probably be disappointed I didn't already name our future children (Sydney for a boy OR a girl!!!)
Wish me luck. Right now I feel like a frigging schoolgirl in a classic 80's movie, and as a pessimist, I'm not totally reconciled to this experience.
Who, me? You're fucking kidding, right?
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
Extra Extra: MeMe's Heart Grows Three Sizes, is Almost Normal-Sized.
It seems a little strange and nostalgic to be back on here after what was essentially a hissy-fit fueled hiatus.
Let's face it. Dating in a small town? It honestly might just be the wise and mature choice to NOT DATE AT ALL SO THERE.
And, honestly, I've enjoyed my single-ness, as I usually do.
I switched all of my dating profiles to "only looking for friendship. FRIEND. SHIP. I'm serious," and then basically ignored anyone who tried to talk to be because who is on those things to really meet friends? Losers without friends, that's who.
I focused on the friends I do have, and myself, and doing the sort of things I normally would consider too totally wild and crazy to bother with, like paying off my credit card and other expenses. And it felt good. I was happy with it.
But was I?
A few too many drinks and some less-than-flattering insecurities last week sent me into what I'd like to consider a significant backslide. I lived up to my nickname of The Make-Out Camel, wherein I go for long periods of time without male companionship, and then break it with a terrific binge of lip-on-lip action.
Three or so hard-ciders in and I was kissing, smooching, macking, and literally chasing down any man (honestly, anyone of any gender who didn't move fast enough to flee my embrace) and forcing myself on them. I became THAT girl again, who was sort of charming and fun when she was 21 and those forced to endure her advances were equally young and excitable, but at… older-than-21… it was not my finest hour.
Although it's good to know I've still got it.
So, concerned that my vagina might have in fact sealed up by this point, backing up my hormones to my mouth and perhaps prompting other worrisome bouts of attacking, licking, biting, and terrible dancing (because that's how Science works), and given a little free-time by the fucking snowpocalype us poor Midwesterners have been stuck with, I returned to the newly reformatted OK Cupid, and began trolling for men I could potentially use for a quick attention fix.
Because I'm not at all serious about this, and the world runs on irony, I of course have found the man I can only refer to as Future Husband #2.
WHAT.
I learned my lesson from Future Husband #1, of course. Let's not be too hasty!
But one must consider how long it has been since I have had a legitimate interest in any of these poor fools, and acknowledge this is sort of exciting. I, much like the Tin Man, know I have a heart because I'm horny. Or something like that.
Where the heck have guys like this been hiding?
So I won't get my hopes up at this point, but I will say that Future Husband #2 looks good in a beard, loves beer, arcades, and dogs… and teaches at-risk children. A-fricking-dorable. He'd almost be sickeningly cute if he wasn't also sarcastic and witty.
Uh, yup! Major bonus: his sense of humor is eerily similar to my own. Which, actually, does make me mildly concerned that if we combined our powers we could literally take over the world.
And by concerned I mean excited and hungry for domination. Sometimes I confuse the feelings.
So, anyway. I will continue to follow this lead, and see where it may go. It may lead nowhere, or we may end up making out awkwardly in the pee-scented plastic jeep of the Jurassic Park video game (a girl can dream)… but sometimes, even for me and my deadened emotions, it's nice to have a little crush on someone.
Peace and Happy New Year.
Let's face it. Dating in a small town? It honestly might just be the wise and mature choice to NOT DATE AT ALL SO THERE.
And, honestly, I've enjoyed my single-ness, as I usually do.
I switched all of my dating profiles to "only looking for friendship. FRIEND. SHIP. I'm serious," and then basically ignored anyone who tried to talk to be because who is on those things to really meet friends? Losers without friends, that's who.
I focused on the friends I do have, and myself, and doing the sort of things I normally would consider too totally wild and crazy to bother with, like paying off my credit card and other expenses. And it felt good. I was happy with it.
But was I?
A few too many drinks and some less-than-flattering insecurities last week sent me into what I'd like to consider a significant backslide. I lived up to my nickname of The Make-Out Camel, wherein I go for long periods of time without male companionship, and then break it with a terrific binge of lip-on-lip action.
Three or so hard-ciders in and I was kissing, smooching, macking, and literally chasing down any man (honestly, anyone of any gender who didn't move fast enough to flee my embrace) and forcing myself on them. I became THAT girl again, who was sort of charming and fun when she was 21 and those forced to endure her advances were equally young and excitable, but at… older-than-21… it was not my finest hour.
Just kidding, I'm going to make out with your friend now.
Although it's good to know I've still got it.
So, concerned that my vagina might have in fact sealed up by this point, backing up my hormones to my mouth and perhaps prompting other worrisome bouts of attacking, licking, biting, and terrible dancing (because that's how Science works), and given a little free-time by the fucking snowpocalype us poor Midwesterners have been stuck with, I returned to the newly reformatted OK Cupid, and began trolling for men I could potentially use for a quick attention fix.
Because I'm not at all serious about this, and the world runs on irony, I of course have found the man I can only refer to as Future Husband #2.
WHAT.
ZOMG he loves camping!? I love camping!!
I learned my lesson from Future Husband #1, of course. Let's not be too hasty!
But one must consider how long it has been since I have had a legitimate interest in any of these poor fools, and acknowledge this is sort of exciting. I, much like the Tin Man, know I have a heart because I'm horny. Or something like that.
Where the heck have guys like this been hiding?
So I won't get my hopes up at this point, but I will say that Future Husband #2 looks good in a beard, loves beer, arcades, and dogs… and teaches at-risk children. A-fricking-dorable. He'd almost be sickeningly cute if he wasn't also sarcastic and witty.
Uh, yup! Major bonus: his sense of humor is eerily similar to my own. Which, actually, does make me mildly concerned that if we combined our powers we could literally take over the world.
And by concerned I mean excited and hungry for domination. Sometimes I confuse the feelings.
So, anyway. I will continue to follow this lead, and see where it may go. It may lead nowhere, or we may end up making out awkwardly in the pee-scented plastic jeep of the Jurassic Park video game (a girl can dream)… but sometimes, even for me and my deadened emotions, it's nice to have a little crush on someone.
Peace and Happy New Year.
And the attention span is short, people.
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