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!