The Big Date Comes and Goes.

Yesterday I had the first date I can honestly say I have ever been excited for.

   The plan was to wake up early, go to the gym so I'd look extra slender, spend a leisurely amount of time polishing and buffing and shaving and plucking and applying and fluffing until it looked like Lindsay Lohan's downfall in reverse.

Seriously the scariest movie I've ever seen. 

However, because I am MeMe, instead I slept late, lay in bed working a few hours, enjoyed walking the dog too long, ran out of time and had to throw on make-up before booking it to the theater, where I arrived as the movie was starting. 

Unfortunately, I don't wear much make-up these days, and with the combination of yellow lights in the bathroom, it wasn't until I was on the highway that I realized somewhere along the line my skin had gone from Incredibly White to Kristen Stewart without informing my make-up supply, and it was more than evident that I was wearing foundation caked on like I was entering Witness Protection. I spent my drive trying to wipe off everything I'd just layered on, but by the time I arrived, frantic and missing a great deal of my Hot Girl Swagger, I'd managed to downgrade from "Tan Mom" to "Hopefully The Lighting Will Be Low."

I've been really looking forward to our date and eventual marriage.

Luckily, FH was totally calm about me arriving late, which is an important trait in a man interested in dating me, because I firmly believe being on time is for chumps or people with real jobs. 

We went in to see "The Hobbit," miraculously arriving mid-previews. And yes, he snuck in a flask.

I had a feeling he might since we had both made that awesome joke about a "Hobbit" drinking game, but the presentation was less OMG that's hilarious! You actually did it! and more, Oh. Mmk. Perhaps it would have been a more enjoyable game if I hadn't destroyed a bag of Sour Patch Kids in a horrific incident of gummie genocide and suffered the inevitable loss of all skin on my tongue. Do NOT, I repeat, do NOT pour straight vodka over that. 

Unfortunately, it didn't take too long to determine that Future Husband would need to be renamed, and the coveted (YES COVETED) title to go back on the shelf for later times. 

There was nothing wrong with him, although he wins the Expert award for picking flattering dating site photographs and I would have towered over him in heels. 

I just didn't feel that hoped-for connection, and it was obvious I was reading his hilarious and clever texts in my own imaginary fake Future Husband voice, thus improving them, because while we had a nice conversation, nothing about it make me go all squee inside.

After the movie, where I tried not to openly display how turned on I am by Aidan Turner..

Sorry about the squirming... it's just so... itchy... in here...

... we went and got dinner, at a really good Italian place, and had a nice conversation. He did everything well, too. We got drinks, I got whatever I wanted, and he asked if I wanted dessert after. 

We shared food and he told me he was impressed that I didn't mind him eating off my plate, but since I grew up with brothers and our dining episodes were mostly who can eat enough out of the trough to survive, my only goal is to eat more than my counterpart and to kill them and wear their skin as a trophy if they touch the last bite. Aren't most girls like that?

But, no click. No butterflies. No itchy seat. 

Honestly, I just don't see the point in dating someone if I don't spend the whole time they're talking picturing them naked on a beach pouring me a cocktail while we laugh about some mutual inside joke and share taste in music and personal values. 

You know. Standards. 

Which is to just say, if there's no spark with someone, then I will get bored with them. Quickly. And that spark is a sadly elusive creature.

So back to the drawing board. 

The Preparations.

My Big Date is set for Saturday.

   I can honestly say this is the first time... ever... I have actually been excited for a date. Not dreading. Not going forth with resigned acceptance. Not sweating horribly. Genuinely, happily excited.

Is this a result of my Dating Experiment? Did it actually work? Am I cool now?

Well, there's only one thing for certain.

This date can only spell my doom. 

Crap.

This has two possible outcomes.

One--that I will blurt out something awkward and weird.

Example: 

"Hi! I'm MeMe. I'm so glad we are finally doing this, it's really nice to able to get together in person. You know, I've dreamed of this moment. Only, you were on the bow of a ship, and I was your frightened, but not unwilling, captive. I think I'm going to order a beer, what are you having?"

Two--that there will be something terrifically wrong with him. 

In the words of the wise Samantha Jones... "Good on paper. Bad in bed."

Among other memorable quotes.

These could include:

Racist
Serial Killer
Weird Mickey Mouse Voice
Closeted Gay
Republican
All of the Above

There was mild concern he might turn out to be about fifty pounds heavier than his photos, but my friend reminded me that weight can be lost. I'd shell out for a gym membership for this guy. He made a joke about sneaking a flask into "The Hobbit." This is true love.

 Not much I can, do, however, if he Catfished me in general.

Although at this point, if Future Husband turns out to be a fat older woman with twelve cats and a stained mumu, I like her so much I'd say let's combine our pets, put an extra layer of plastic on the sofa, and begin the rest of our lives together. Yes, I really mean that, Erma. Drop the robe. Mama's home.

With the countdown to my Big Date on, the frantic preparations begin. How many trips to the gym can I physically squeeze in by Saturday? How many teeth-whitening treatments can I really apply before my gums turn black and my molars fall out? How rapidly could I recover from a minor nose job and eyebrow lift, like... what level of bruising are we talking, here? Can I cover it up with theater make-up?

 
And, my God, what can I wear that somehow hides my flaws, accentuates my strong points (boobs), flatters my coloring, and gives the impression that I am clever, fun, classy, sexy, and really good company on a couple's cruise?

But also makes him want me to meet his mother.

THE GAME IS ON!

Wait? What's That Tingling?

Okay, guys. I don't want to jump the gun here (me? never.).

I don't want to overreact. I don't want to get too excited because that has a serious habit of biting me in the ass.

But I think I found my future husband. 

And not in the way that you throw the term around when chilling (drinking) with your best friend in a nice restaurant (bar), and you pick the cutest guy there/ the one buying you drinks/ the only one left in the building and make a sweeping declaration that that, THAT, guy will be your future husband. And then you go to pee for the forty-ninth time.

I mean this in the way that no woman should ever admit without an anonymous blog. The, 'I've planned our wedding on Pinterest' way, and the 'I've already figured out how you will propose' (anniversary trip to Ireland) way.

I have literally imagined our entire relationship in my mind, right up to the point where you sneak into my hospital room, hold my hand, and our souls fly away and unite forever in the graceful form of snowy wild birds.

                                                  I like my fantasies well-planned.

Could have been a solid 400. 

So what happened to Hugz 'n Kissez?

Ugh! I gave him the boot after too many XXOO and winky-faced text messages. I'm pretty sure he's at home doodling pictures of our future children together in his Lisa Frank binder watching reruns of "Friends" on TBS.

                           Can I PLEASE just be the GIRL for ONCE in a relationship?

But anyway enough about Hugz 'n Kissez. He's out, Future Husband is in. Everything is on hold until I see where this thing goes with Future Husband (goes as in, to the altar). 

Mr. MeMe... That has a ring to it.

So what makes Future Husband so special? 

1) He is super attractive. The only downside is that he looks--a little too much--like Thing One... 

But since Thing One pretty much epitomizes my type (pirate), I can accept this. Actually it's a kind of nice to get back to the things I'm truly attracted to (beards). 

My one fear is that one day, when Mr. MeMe and I are happily married and giggling together over early-morning coffee before work (he knows how much I need my java fix!) I'll run into Thing One and his stupid girlfriend/wife person, and he'll think I was so in love with him that I had to replace him with someone who looks just like him but has a better jawline and is way cooler.

2) He not only carries on a conversation, with correct grammar and spelling and interesting anecdotes, I hang on his OKC messages. I long for them. I want to carry my laptop in my pocket and check it obsessively during dinner with friends until they yell at me to put it away they never get to talk to me anymore because I'm so caught up with Future Husband. 

3) He has the exact sense of humor I find funniest. No forcing jokes, no eye rolling. He is perfectly tailored to my needs. And so far, he seems to get mine as well. Not many men find my aggressive and mildly insulting sense of humor adorable and clever. 

4) He is an attorney--repeat, he has a good job. In fact in a few more years he'll probably be legitimately wealthy. He'll be able to fund my perfect Pinterest wedding. And I can argue/fight with him all I want and it will just lead to hot make-up sex, as is appropriate, rather than a crying boyfriend who thinks I'm dead inside and should be medicated.

5) He plays guitar in a band. He brews his own beer. He loves hiking with his dog. He has hipster glasses.

Perfection? Thus far!

    Yes, the original drive behind this dating blog was to get some experience dating so at some point down the road, whenever someone cute and in possession of a penis spoke to me, I would react less like the girl above and more like this:

Voom.

Also to have hilarious anecdotes I can consult for my future writing needs. And to piss off my ex.

However, since the unlikely result has been someone I might be actually interested in dating and eventually tricking into marrying me... bonus. 

What is this? MeMe, optimistic? Okay, moderately. I recognize that this may, very unfortunately, blow up in my face. But you know what, for once I don't care. 

This is the first time in a long time I haven't felt bitter, betrayed... and other "b" words. I need this because:

-My Big Crush, the one I stubbornly glommed onto for way more years than I want to admit, was ruined by reality. Reality is a dick and so is my Big Crush. 

-My ex's are all happy with their new girlfriends they both started dating immediately upon my dismissal because they're incapable of being alone, thereby negating any positive memories I might have tried to cling to of our time together because if I'm that easily replaced, it was all a bunch of crap. And so are my ex boyfriends.

-Anyone who is nice, smart, treats me right, etc., I am almost invariably not attracted to, even if they're cute, like some sick joke of nature or the sad blunt end of a Daddy Issues joke. I just do not fall easily. Falling just leads to unsightly ass bruising, and I try to avoid blemishing the Money Maker. 

So, anyway, right now, I'm going to enjoy my crush. It feels good to feel good again--for however long it takes to find out that he pees on hobos or keeps severed fingers in a mayonnaise jar in the basement freezer. 

Honestly, I'm almost terrified to meet him in real life and ruin this. 

                         Almost. 

Wish me luck. 

Boredom Yields Necessity?

I've had some requests to re-start my blog (you like me, you really like me!), which I very much appreciate. I apologize for going off the radar a bit-- it's been quite a busy while for me. I graduated college and stuff (pause for applause) so, you know... Respect.

I've also had some inquiries into my current level of love life (amateur) and unfortunately, I have to keep that under wraps. Let's just say it's been eventful--I had some respect for men restored by one, and taken away by another. Back to neutral here.

I'm sick as a dog, so I've also spent a lot of time watching "Ally McBeal" on Netflix, too, which has been strangely cathartic.

Sorry. Only got enough fucks for one in this cup.

She is self-absorbed, awkward, and gets screwed over by men! It's like watching a tall, anorexic version of myself (said every woman watching "Ally McBeal" ever).

Anyway. All it comes down to is I still get a mini panic attack when I think about being in a serious relationship.

Also I'm getting a little concerned for my social life. I'm spending an inordinate amount of time sitting in a dark basement with an ancient cat that looks like this.

But grumpier. 

I'm texting people I shouldn't. I'm drawing a smiley face on my pillow and trying to get it to tell me about its feelings.

Oh, you.

That ain't healthy.

                           Plus, I'm really bored. Real life is surprisingly dull.

So I've returned, with high hopes, to OKC and POF...

    Yeah, nothing's changed. No one got more charming or attractive in my absence.

I've had a request to "look up my skirt" (sorry, I don't really wear skirts). A few careful inquiries into what I might be looking for (SEX??), and an invitation to guest star in the unhealthy bedroom of a married couple.

Flattering.

And, of course, the basic "you're pretty," "I like your smile," compliments that mean absolutely nothing but I kind of need right now. Honestly, after a terrific rejection followed by a week of strep throat that has transitioned into some horrible mutated flu virus, I am flipping through old Facebook photos to remind myself that I'm kind of  hot and don't usually resemble a newly birthed Orc.

Like this. But with more mucus. 

So I'll accept my flat compliments for the moment.

I'm also altering my standards, trying to weed out the inevitable annoyances.

1) I will not go out with anyone that can't buy me a drink at the bar. Like, legally.
2) I seriously will stop talking to you if you fuck up "your." It's ONE THING that drives me nuts. Ok not the only one thing but it's a biggie.
3) I will not go out with you if you're ugly. Sorry. Our hypothetical children would be hideous and become horrible targets for online bullies.
4) If you can't bother sending more more than a "hi," I'm not interested. Put in a moderate effort... Unless you're really attractive. In which case, I'm flattered. How you doin'.
5) If you make a sexual reference, you're out.... Unless it's a really clever entendre.  Points for funny pervs. That's why my tagline is "more than a handful."
6) If you ask me about my tagline, I will act offended and assure you it is in reference to my personality, not my ample, supple bosom. Cad!

What's the line up after these eliminations?

Just one, and he's only made the cut so far because he's really cute. Like a tan baby kick boxer before he's gotten those gorgeous cheekbones shattered like a dropped plate.

Pro's and Con's Time? YUP!

Con:

-He's really fixated on cuddling with me. I'm not really a cuddler. I'm generally more of a... please don't touch me until we've gotten to know each other and reached a level of comfort for physical interaction. Maybe after a good year or three.
-He's also really fixated on the fact that I have pleather pants. That is probably my fault for bringing up the fact that I have pleather pants (I was telling him my aspirations for espionage).
-He signs everything XXOO. I'm not signing up to go out with a 14-year-old girl.

Pro:

-He's HOT. Dayum.

   So we have tentatively arranged to meet when I am feeling better (and bonus, the thinnest I've ever been! Thanks, highly contagious illnesses). Bonus points that he lives two hours away and is willing to drive out here to meet me. Maybe I'll even buy him a cup of coffee for his efforts.

As long as dinner's on him.