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.
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.