I'm Back, Bitches

Miss me?

I missed you. 

Do you even know how many adventures I've had this past almost-year that I wanted to share with you and couldn't? No, you don't. Like, I dated a guy who lived in his car. IN HIS CAR. And I didn't get to tell you all about it. I almost wonder what the point was.

I certainly had my reasons for retiring Kissing Frogs, but now I have equal reasons for bringing it back.

1) I want to. It's fun.

2) Apparently, if I do not document my dating experiences, my likelihood of staying at home in pajamas drinking alone from 11am-midnight increases substantially.

3) My ability to interact with the opposite sex has suffered. I underestimated how much less weird dating on the reg makes me. Apparently I waver violently between Ice Queen and Outrageously Aggressive if I am not kept in the social game. 

4) Friends are beginning to express concern regarding the caliber of men I pursue. Apparently once someone tells you they live in their car and you just shrug and go out with them again, you're setting the bar a wee bit low.

So, here we are again. 

I'm not saying things won't be a little different. I feel like I'm here to take things a bit more seriously, and thus, the dating prospects will be screened with true vigor. I may not post as often, because I'm going to be more selective about who I go out with. Hell, I may even wait until the relationship falls apart after the standard week and a half or so before posting. 

Maybe.

I have other reasons for resurrecting the Awkward Girl. In theory, I will be moving across the state this spring, and in typical overly eager fashion, I've already updated my dating profile to reflect this change. 

Yes, those poor fools think MeMe is in their neck of the woods, lurking prettily around some corner, haunting their dreams with hints of subtle perfume (it's just my natural stank, I quit using deodorant). If they bothered to read my INTRODUCTORY PARAGRAPH they would realize that the situation is unfolding, and no, we can't meet at four for coffee because I literally live hours away. I just want to see what's out there. 

Ah, what's out there. Same shit different day, as they say. 

But this shit is just way more attractive. Seriously. All of my speculation about dating in a bigger city is proving to be correct - the bottom of the barrel is still vomit-inducing, but the mid-range, compared to what I'm used to, is top notch. Don't even get me going on the ones that really catch the eye. I feel like I'm sending fan mail to movie stars.  

He's like a solid 8 where I live. And his friend on the left ain't so bad either.

They're largely still idiots, but I guess that comes of trolling for singles on a free dating site. Crazy bitches and idiots hoping to find that spark.

So stay tuned.

Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

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.

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.

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!

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.

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

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.

Who, me? You're fucking kidding, right?

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.

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.

Introspection and Shit.

I've been thinking a lot lately.

I blame the weather - come this time of year, a darkness peppered with rainstorms creeps in over the Midwest like it's heralding some terrible future (it is: snow), and I, along with about 70% of the population, take to my bed at high noon because it's so dark outside it looks like the climax of a horror flick.

Maybe I just read "Julie of the Wolves" too many times as a child but already I am starting to revert back to the ways of our ancestors as a means to survive. I'm striking up alliances with neighborhood animals and finding my place in the local squirrel pack (it's lower than I expected). I'm performing strange mystical rituals by the light of the candle I finally lit by rubbing two sticks together (matchsticks). I'm doubling my caloric intake in preparation for the long winter and also because mozzarella sticks were on sale.

Long story short, it's dark, I'm dark, and I've been thinking a lot.

One of the first things I'm realizing is that I'm a lot stupider than I used to be. More stupid? Dammit. See? I don't even fucking know.

I'm not sure whether to blame this on the fact that I'm now on the downward slide toward thirty and that my brain is deteriorating within my skull more and more with the passing of each day...  or that I've been pumping my body so full of various forms of alcohol for the past ten years and I can light a flame with just my breath (and two matchsticks).

For whatever reason, I'm dumber. I'd worry that this will impact my future career options, unpredictably alter my social interactions, and inevitably steer me down a much simpler and safer path in life than I had envisioned for myself as a quick-witted teen... but my poor brain can't process that much all at once.

Frankly, I need to conserve any remaining strategic abilities for kicking Fluffertail out of the pack. I'm tired of getting the shittiest acorns. That bitch gotsata go.

Secondly, that I care less. Possibly this is because my critical thinking skills are degrading so fast that next year I'll only be capable of sipping a juice box in a rocking chair for the better part of the day, but I just. Don't. Care. I'm getting older and stupider at light speed, and I've wasted a lot of my life putting up with people I shouldn't have, laughing off jokes that hurt my feelings, and having crushes on men that would probably rather date Fluffertail if it came down to a choice.

I'm done with that shit, I really am. Something switched on inside of me (it was probably just hidden beneath all the intelligence, before) that I'm grateful for. People will call me a bitch, people will call me overly sensitive, but I'm going to just call it like I see it now and follow my freaking bliss. I don't need people like that in my life. I'm edging closer to death with every breath, and I need my final days full of people that appreciate that I'm learning to stand up for myself.

Third, I'm noticing that other people are really stupid too.

Yes, I've always known this, because until my brain rotted away I've held myself above these silly, simple fools. I laughed at their little antics, and rested assured in the knowledge that I was better than them.

Well, now I'm down on that level, and since stupidity has given me confidence (aren't most of the stupid people you know strangely confident? That is because they literally don't know any better), I'm ready to tell you folks how stupid you're being in the hopes that we can all band stupidly together and form one and a half or so reasonably intelligent beings. Idiots, we need to unite.

Most especially when it comes to dating.

I do believe I already had a small rant regarding the Friend Zone, so I'll gloss that one over.

Let me just reiterate this: If a girl or guy tells you they just want to be friends, and you stick around hoping they change their mind, you are an idiot. I don't care which movie you think your life is based on, it ain't happening for you, Julia Roberts. Pull your head out of your ass and quit pretending you care about their feelings when you're really just biding your time to bone them.

Guys, being nice doesn't mean you deserve a hot girl. If you're so fucking nice, date a nice ugly girl and quit complaining that the 10 won't date the 3 even though he's like, always there for her. 

Girls, if he's not interested in you, plenty of other men are. You have boobs.

This is not all rocket science. I have seventeen brain cells left, and even I know this.

Uh, do you have an ass? Asses count too.

One of the biggest complaints I hear from my guy friends (or "friends") is that dating is too difficult because they don't want to get rejected. In real life, they lurk in that Friend Zone hoping that one day she'll get drunk, cry on his shoulder because her cat died or something, and see that he's been there for her all along. In the online world of dating, they message one or two girls significantly out of their league, complain when neither Tiffany nor Amber responds, and throw up their hands in defeat.

This all is very stupid. I love you guys, I do, but you're being really stupid.

However a whole new brand of stupid has revealed itself to me as of late. I haven't been dating much lately, probably because I've been so busy trading pelts and growing Yeti legs to keep me warm during the winter months.

Some of my friends are, however, and the best thing about having other poor souls stuck in online dating with you is that you can all stalk the guys your friend is talking with.

Yes, we do that. Did you notice that a girl checked out your profile but did not message you? You probably have a coffee date with her friend that week.

Because I deleted my Plenty of Fish account, my stalking abilities were frustratingly limited, so I signed back up. My experiences with POF have been disappointing and disgusting to the point where I had to scald off most of my skin and some of the memories. So, when creating a profile this time around, I went the most unappealing route I could.

I left everything blank except for my hobbies (Eating. Cooking. Food. Recipes. Leftovers.). My body type is "carrying a few extra pounds." Looking for friends only. My profile pic was of me making an indecipherable face and drinking from a penis cup at a bachelorette party.

Still, the messages came. Other people like food too! Omg we have so much in common.

I consulted my friend on this strange happening, and she noted that my picture gives off the impression that I really love to party and have fun or, as she gently put it, that I'm "easy." I immediately switched it to one of my Halloween photos - entirely in make-up and costume, making the craziest eyes possible, there is absolutely no way to determine what I actually look like underneath it all. None. I could be Jessica Alba or Bill Nye, you would never be able to tell.

If anything, the messages increased. I'm getting favorited right and left. Hahaha, I seem fun. Nice picture. Wanna get coffee?

I have not answered a single message nor made any attempt to seem approachable, my profile is almost entirely blank, and there is no way to distinguish what the hell my face actually looks like. This is the online "Shields up" equivalent of wearing chain mail, a ninja mask, and using my Katana to lop off the hands of anyone who comes within striking range.

Why are men throwing themselves at an online profile that is so clearly not going to end well? The same reason girls think they can only date men that order salads for them at dinner.

BECAUSE WE ARE ALL SO STUPID!

Seriously. I love you all, I really do, and myself even more, but got damn. We need to get our shit together, people, before the squirrels take over.

I've been in their midst, and I know how they think, and the human race is in true danger.

Lets order a pizza and talk strategy.