breaking news: dating is hard

i've started dating. REALLY dating. like, seeing the same person more than one time. sometimes for weeks at a time. 

i've come up with a theory of why/how strong/independent people end up with seemingly “mooch” partners:

a) the new partner usually has an abundance of free time to spend together which is lovely. the down side is though, it can allow things to get very intense, very fast emotionally, so by the time you recognize not great behavior, you’re already emotionally invested.

b) if you’ve lived alone for a while, you’re used to paying all your bills yourself. you’ve made it work on one income. any “extra money” the partner bring in (side hustles, random odd jobs, oh hell, any time you don’t have to pay for a dinner out) seems like such a luxury and you appreciate it so much. in reality it’s like someone carrying the eggs upstairs when the whole trunk is full of groceries. you appreciate the help, you could have done it yourself, but it was nice that someone did something for you. as little as it was.

for example:

i recently dated a guy for several weeks. we'll call him the plant guy (he made dirt for my plants!)

 

plant guy just slid right in and i got attached very quickly. he wasn't working, didn't have a steady income, but i was already completely taking care of myself, paying for my own meals, my own rent. have been for...oh...a mere twenty one years. but suddenly, anything he contributed made an outing feel extravagant. made me feel spoiled, fancy. also, because he didn't have a over burdened schedule, was ALWAYS available, like stayed the first night and then every night after that. nothing but uninterrupted one on one time for 3 solid weeks.  it got very intense, very fast.

this weekend i went out with a lawyer. he has a well established, busy career. he's in a band. he has events, a schedule. responsibilities. he has nearly adult children, clients, friends. it would be exponentially harder to get together with him, in-depth time would be limited and broken up over several weeks or months.

i suppose it's just one more way dating is fucking hard.

but it’s like everything else in life- the easy thing isn’t usually the best and the best thing isn’t usually easy.

but being aware of...that. being aware of maybe WHY something is. recognizing the behavior patterns can help reframe the internal dialogue when finding the right balanced partnership.

when i feel like i'm getting in over my head too quickly now i have one more filter to run things through: are you just over-saturated? when's the last time you had a minute alone? am i starting to feel out of balance, why is that?

especially with massive anxiety, it's nice to find a way to be more calm and patient and kind with myself while wading through the swap of despair that is dating. being able to ask myself healthy questions, check in, in a kinder way that isn’t panic or hurt. it can help keep me out of unhealthy relationships and maybe allow a little more space/time for ones i would have otherwise written off.

one more step towards finding a right fit for me.

scratch the surface

i've been doing a LOT of processing and working through things lately.

i've been digging deep into my past, why things are the way they are, why i am the way i am. i'm finally resolving (or working on) trauma and weird shit from the last 37 (fuck, almost 38) years on this planet.

i've delved really fucking deep into recurring nightmares, grief, choices, all the different paths life has taken.

i've gone DEEP y'all.

and it's been (mostly) good and healing. 

but, oddly, it's the super shallow stuff that's made a really big difference for me.

because people are shallow y'all.

and i mean this in the best way possible.

see, i've been single for basically my entire life. i've dated here and there. i was married for a whopping 23 months. most "relationships" don't make it past the 2 month mark. i've been on countless horrible first dates. i've been on plenty "meh" first dates. i've been stood up for an embarrassing number of never-happened dates.

and i took it all so, incredibly, painfully personal.

every rejection, every ghost, every failed attempt it was because of ME. like, ME. the deep me.

i don't have success dating because I'M A TERRIBLE PERSON. my very core self if like if every serial killer and political dictator and perpetrator of ethnic cleansing and generally horrible person on earth merged into one horrible, disgusting, repulsive, intolerable sample of humanity packaged into a chubby brunette body.

imagine packing this image of yourself around year after year.

except...

maybe not?

because here's the thing. most of those people never even got to know me beyond a few text messages and phone calls.

hell, most of them didn't even bother to show up to try to get to know me.

so...maybe people are just shallow.

ya think?

maybe people didn't like me because i'm brunette instead of blonde. cool. i have been blonde(ish), red, blue, pink, purple, black, and for a very short time, a horrid forest green after an attempt at color correction went very wrong.

maybe people don't like me because i'm fat. i've been heavier. i've been lighter. ive been a bigger size, i've been a smaller size. in high school i weighed 140 and had a 28" waist. now i'm almost 40 and have a 28" thigh.

maybe people don't like me because i have kids. i'm hesitant myself to date other people with kids because it's a HUGE responsibility to be in a child's life, for a short time or a long time. even a one time memory can have a lasting effect.

maybe people don't like me because i have tattoos and piercings.

maybe people don't like me because i pronounce words wrong/different.

maybe people don't like my views on politics or religion or which grocery store is the best.

maybe people don't like me because i still own dvd's and refuse to make a digital library. I LIKE THE ACTUAL DVD'S. LEAVE ME ALONE.

maybe it's because i don't like the right music.
 
maybe i talk too much about weird topics (how many people do you know with a book of drawings done by a guard at the gulag?).

maybe it's because i like pineapple on pizza.

maybe it's because they found someone else they have a better connection with.

maybe it's because no one is required to like everyone else on the planet.

maybe i have man hands and don't own a pirate blouse and those are the only two Seinfeld references i know. 

not every rejection is a meat cleaver to the chest. sometimes it's a papercut on your pinkie. sometimes it doesn't even leave a scratch.

people are shallow ya'll.

and that's actually a good thing.

it means maybe i can give myself a break. maybe i'm not actually a terrible monster of a person. i'm just a weird little duck. even weird little ducks can have a great life. 

not everyone hates me as much as i hate myself.

which is actually helping me hate myself less.

funny thing how less hate leads to less hate.


but you know, all those shallow people? it's a time saver. if they think i'm not a match because i don't eat anything purple? how the fuck are they going to handle me when i'm in full PMS rage ranting about who keeps putting the milk back in the fridge on the wrong damn shelf?

sure, it would have been nice if a few had stuck around a little longer.

there's a lot of things that would be nice if they happened.

accidentally becoming uuber famous with endless money to help people out and travel with friends, but without any of the paparazzi or internet trolls? that would be SUPER nice if it happened.

but in the mean time, i'll take a little shallowness and a whole lot less self hate.

that seems like a pretty damn good place to start.

bullet-trainwreck

this story starts like most train wreck stories:

you see, there was this guy...

and since you already know the ending (spoiler alert: that's where the train wreck part comes in), i guess what's left is for me to fill in the middle part.

i can't pretend to be too mad at the universe. i knew i had a pretty hefty karmic debit in the relationship column. i knew it would bite me in the ass in a big way when it caught up with me, and boy did it.

so, i met a guy on a dating site. we talked, regular get to know you conversation, daily bullshit, all the real stuff. it never turned dirty (if you've ever been on a dating site you know 98% of the conversations start or turn dirty quickly). it was great. seemed like just a cool guy.

we planned to meet up on a saturday evening, but the wednesday before i was out for a drink and invited him to join me, which he did. not only was i NOT stood up for a date, he came out for an impromptu meet up BEFORE the time he was supposed to stand me up. WHAT IS THIS WITCHCRAFT?

and it went well. so well my regular bartender commented on it and the immediate chemistry.

well, fucksticks. NOW WHAT?

so we kept talking and kept the date for saturday which went INCREDIBLY well. as in he shared a lyft the next morning with me (him back to his car, me to the airport).

two dates? that pushed me into foreign territory and the freak out commenced. i spent a day in seattle with an amazing friend who let me gush and be a twit, all with him texting me all day. flew back monday morning, he came over and cooked me dinner monday night. WHAT IS HAPPENING??

panic is full swing. we keep texting and talking and he comes over tuesday night. and it's amazing. it's a connection i've never had with someone before. i'm being myself. my total, unfilted, fully crazy self. i tell him my fears about relationships, my hang ups, my disaster history. he does the same. i tell him when i'm panicking about how things are going. he does the same. i try to think of every weird freaky thing that's been a deal breaker in the past and this guy is holding steady. i finally break out the big guns and one evening we talk about empathic abilities. turns out not only is he not freaked out by my abilities, HE HAS THEM TOO. and we are able to literally pass energy back and forth. we're able to share emotions and memories and connect in a totally different way.

this is some next. level. shit.
 
and there's a few snags along the way- he's dealing with PTSD and TBI and gets a little overwhelmed by home life thursday, but then he works through it and comes over friday night...and stays til sunday afternoon.

and i THOUGHT it was going well. there were a few too many calls from the ex-wife and the ex-girlfriend for my comfort, but they were concerned about him and checking in. not unreasonable for someone dealing with veterans issues. i'm just glad he has a strong support network at this point.

but then shit goes sideways. he mentions the ex-girlfriend is going to meet a new guy and it's throwing him for a loop.

huh. ok. well, they were together for 4 years and just split in october. and he's still teaching her photography. so. maybe a bit of an open wound situation. then, after he left sunday, he calls a few hours later in the middle of a melt down because the ex called him on the way back from her overnight date and it sent him into a total tailspin.

and there's my line. if her going on a date throws him into a total tailspin, then he's not ready to be even considering anything new. and i don't want or deserve to be a stop gap or a distraction or whatever.

so i call him monday afternoon and we discuss it and agree that he's really not in as good of a place as he thought, he isn't ready to try something new, but you know, we can still talk.

cool. that ended well. sad. it seemed like it could be something really cool. but i'm not going to settle for second anymore.

LOOK AT ME BEING MATURE AND GROWN UP.

then shit went REALLY sideways. he goes dark after our phone call and, given his mental status over the weekend and everything i want to check and make sure he's ok, so i check his facebook page to see if there's any activity.

and then i see it. a simple post on his wall that says "143." that's it. "143" posted saturday night at 11:44.

wait.

what?

saturday night? when he was in bed with me?

what the fuck?

what's 143?

to the google: OH, 143 is "i love you."

well fuck. that's weird. he was in bed with me. who is he posting that for in the middle of the night?

OH, there's a comment on it. 

nice. the ex-gf posted "143" back.

well. that's fan-fucking-tastic.

and the pieces start to fall into place: he started seeing me, so she started seeing someone new. then she was going to go stay with that guy, so suddenly he's staying with me. OH, so i'm a pawn in a game of ex-relationship chicken.

THAT'S FUCKING SPECTACULAR.

holy. fucking. blindside.

and here i stupidly thought things were going well and he was actually into me.

commence total mind fuck.

BUT.

here's where things get interesting.

i call him on it. flat out call him on it. is this what you were doing? was any of this real? do you have any idea how totally shitty this is?

that's right: I STOOD UP FOR MYSELF.

good news: he wasn't using me. WHEW. that's a relief.

he was just trying to hurt her and i got caught in the crossfire.

oh wait...not so much of a relief.

BUT, he swears our connection was real. he says that he did actually care for me and feel the same connection, he was just too caught up on her.

so. I'LL TAKE IT. i choose to believe it.

I. CHOOSE. TO. BELIEVE. IT.

it wasn't me this time. i threw everything at him. all of it. he didn't run away. i don't know if it's because he was determined to show her up, or too distracted to really be bothered, or if he really did just simply like me.

i'm going with the last one.

and that's a BIG shift for me.

silver lining.

i was myself. i cooked meals i would normally cook. i sat around in my pajamas. i even *gasp* wore my glasses and didn't wash my hair. WHAT????

i spoke up for myself. i opened up. with the help of some VERY patient friends i didn't panic and cut ties when i normally would. i stuck it out. i tried. i opened myself up.

I HAD FEELINGS Y'ALL.

ACTUAL. FEELINGS.

and i didn't die.

as fast as it flashed and burned out, as stupid as i felt for how intense it got in such a short time, I DID IT. i threw it ALL out there. i let him stay the night. i let him be around the teenager. i cooked him meals. i did dishes and laundry and REGULAR PEOPLE THINGS. 

it wasn't a magical bachelor island bubble where everything is perfect all the time and no one snores (spoiler alert: i snore. loudly).

and it was ok.

i mean, until it wasn't.

BUT IT WAS OK.

he didn't run. he didn't judge me. he didn't freak out.


I WAS MYSELF Y'ALL AND HE LIKED ME.

so. i can deal with the train wreck. i can deal with the hurt, and there was A LOT of hurt.

AND. because i'm trying REALLY hard to be in the moment and actually experience things as they happen instead of shoving them down to bite me years later: here's my take away:

it's going to get really sappy and self-help bullshit and very meditative/mantra-ish right now:

yes, this hippie shit is coming from me:

i appreciate the pain for letting me know i can still feel.

i appreciate the experience for letting me know i am capable of and open to a partnership.

i appreciate the betrayal for reminding me actions have consequences.

i appreciate the despair for reminding me i have people i can reach out to that will listen and care.

i appreciate the reminder that hope is still an option. and that i am capable of warmth and caring and understanding.

i appreciate the experience for showing me i CAN open up and be honest, ALL of me.

even though it all fell apart. even though there's a ton of ugly questions i could ask.

I CHOOSE HOPE. i choose to know me being me didn't chase him away. for the first time ever.

I CHOOSE TO BELIEVE HE LIKED ME AS I AM.

well fuck. that turned into a bridget jones moment. time to wrap this up.

SO. long story short: there was a guy. i liked him. HE LIKED ME. and it just didn't work out this time.

but i tried.

my dirty, shameful, hidden secret

98% of the time if you hear me talking about dating, romance, marriage, relationships, sex, ANYTHING to do with settling down and finding a life partner you would be listening to tales of horror, regret, mind boggling oddities and general, overall, resounding pessimism and bitterness stronger than the darkest, cream filled, dark chocolate valentines day treat.

if you want to know about a date that went wrong? i've got a veritable catalogue of options for you.

want to hear about a romantic trip around the world to reunite with the one that got away? well, i have something that started out that way.

want to hear about sex that even the most seasoned of provocateurs says WHAT THE FUCK to? i got you covered.

there have been countless train wrecks over the years. remember the time i ended up dating a pimp? remember all the times i didn't actually date anyone because i got stood up 7 times in a row by different guys?

but here, after all this time, is my darkest, dirtiest, most shameful secret:

i am a totally hopeless romantic.

it's out.

the darkness has found the light.

now ya'll know.

i adore romantic movies. i've watched one fine day HUNDREDS of times thinking, you know, maybe that could happen. i mean, I HAVE KIDS, and they get sick, and things happen, and maybe i could meet an adorable george clooney with his own kid and it would be a hot mess that turn out to be wonderful.

IT COULD HAPPEN.

it really could happen to (me) you...if i was ever a waitress, a guy would totally split his lottery ticket winnings with me and leave his hot latina wife to be with a boring white girl. IT COULD TOTALLY HAPPEN TO ME.

i have rows of rom-com movies that i've watched over and over. i have had thousands of imaginary relationships in 5 minutes or less after making eye contact with a stranger in the grocery store. i keep making dating profiles and trying to date in the hopes that MAYBE this time it will work.

i, the person who has never had a relationship longer than 23 months (let's be honest, that ONE was an outlier. the REAL duration is 3 months or less), I STILL BELIEVE.

like the 14 year old that still truly believe in santa clause, i still believe in love.

i've seen it. 

i know it's out there.

and there's this stubborn, determined, completely delusional part of myself that still thinks i'll find it.

eventually.

maybe.

i mean, probably not, but, you know, weirder things have happened.

and what is 2017 if not the year of weirder things?

and so, against reasonable consideration, against any possible logic, against my own deep gut instinct, i'm going to speed dating tonight.

on valentines day.

in a bar.

because...maybe?

i mean, I KNOW. it's not probable. it's not realistic. it's not logical. who actually finds someone to date at a speed dating event?

but...you know...maybe?

and I KNOW. just go. have fun. meet new people. it's out of the house. it's away from real estate stress. it's something new and different. just enjoy the moment for what it is.

but the back of my brain just keeps saying...maybe?

and so i shaved my legs. YES, the post-winter clearcut came early this year.

and i painted my nails.

and i did a face mask.

and i have a gorgeous red dress picked out.

and...maybe?

but i mean, probably not. actually, scratch that. NOT. not likely at all.

but...maybe?





but probably not.

stand-bi

i'm awkward as fuck.

not in the adorable pretty woman, kind hearted hooker that doesn't know which fork to use with the salad kind of way.

i'm awkward in the bring a whole room to an awkward silence with an inappropriate comment or story kind of way.

i've never figured out the difference between polite conversation and when someone is actually hitting on me. probably because the second one has never happened.

i'm a bartenders favorite person. a little extra attention and they get an above average tip and probably a phone number that they'll never even glance at.

because when a bartender carries on a 20 minute conversation, through several interruptions, on the theory that geographic location/place of birth directly affects temperament and health of the population (think: people living closer to the equator are statistically happier due to their naturally higher vitamin d levels from getting more liquid sunshine than northerners) and the etymology/prevalence of genetic disorders or neurological anomalies based on geography...that MUST be flirting or at least some level of interest...right??

for the record: nope.

just a bartender getting a degree in geography.

i'm socially awkward of the ZERO GAME club when it comes to dating. i can wingman like a mutherfucker. if YOU need a date, i can help make that happen. but for ME? nope.

i have never struggled (per say) with my sexuality. growing up i liked boys because i was raised in a small religious town where girls liked boys and boys liked girls and that was that. there were a few outliers- one PE coach that was a lesbian...she lived with the lady that refereed the volleyball games. that was the extent of my "exposure" to anything other than the status quo according to the baptist church. vague half knowledge of two ladies that lived together. oh the scandal.

years after leaving the small town scene, after a divorce, after some growing up and exploring and coming into my own and realizing sex and masturbation are ok and not shameful, one-way-ticket-to-hell things, i started to notice small shifts in myself. porn preferences tended more and more towards girls. i started noticing women more in general. started thinking i would really like to try dating girls as well as guys. there was no real debate, no real struggle, just a slow recognition of a whole other side of myself and a whole different section of the dating pool.

huh. i think i'm bi. MAYBE I SHOULD EXPLORE THAT.

and so i went on a date with a girl. (that ended in a threesome somehow. some men have magical powers that i will NEVER understand).

and i LIKED going on a date with a girl. and i like girls in general. and i still like boys.

BUT. that was my one and only date with a girl. and my track record with boys isn't much better. out of the last 10 scheduled dates, 9 of them have stood me up.

because i just...i'm missing that part. i'm missing that social filter of polite vs. flirting. i'm missing that confidence to not care about rejection. i'm missing that ability to connect.

i can carry on a conversation with a stranger next to me in a bar. i can chat with them and have general bar debate and banter. but that's it. i don't know if the bartender is flirting. i can't tell if the waitress paid extra attention to my table. i don't know if the checker at the grocery store is just trying to make their shift interesting or actually is interested. is that smile from the stranger at the gas pump just a nice person? or someone checking me out?
 

i like boys. i like girls. but i'm on perpetual stand-bi.

how do you get past that? how do you learn to differentiate? it's easier/safer to just assume NO ONE is flirting and walk away at the end of an interaction, but i can't help but feel like maybe i'm being a little too closed off ice bitch when i do that.

people like to talk about the bi community as double dipping...oh, you're just bi so you have twice the chances at last call. YOU MEAN TWICE THE CHANCE AT REJECTION? cause i'm pretty sure that's all it means. also...do bi people not have taste? are we that cartoon wolf howling at EVERYTHING? in the same way homophobic men are afraid of gay men because being gay must mean you like EVERY. PENIS. ON. EARTH. apparently being bi means that i have no opinion or personal preference, i'm just trying to bang anything with a heartbeat.

guess what: NOPE. being bi just means i'm TWICE as awkward. it means i'm TWICE as inept at trying to get a date. it means i'm TWICE as likely to stick my foot in my mouth and embarrass myself in front of someone. i'm too straight for a good portion of lesbians, and dear god, whatever you do, never tell a man you're bi because all you'll hear after that is "do you know anyone for a threesome?" DUDE. I CAN'T EVEN GET ONE DATE AND YOU WANT ME TO ARRANGE A THREESOME?

and so here i am. twice as single. double the awkward.

remember that horrible tom hanks movie where he was stuck in the airport forever because he didn't have a homeland?

that's me. in the dating world. stand-bi forever because i don't really belong anywhere. and i don't speak the language.

now i just need a catherine zeda-jones stewardess to take pity on me.

domestification of a rabbid squirrel

i have a date tonight.

well, maybe anyway. we already rearranged tuesday to wednesday, then had to rearrange wednesday to thursday.

par for the course.

BUT. any time i have a date, there's this stubborn, resilient, inextinguishable stupid little flame of hope that resides somewhere among the cobwebs in the "relationship" part of my brain that says "...but what if this one works out?"

then the rest of my brain laughs and laughs and makes a few snide comments, replays some of the more spectacular blooper reels from the various train-wrecks over the years and we go back to being our normal, bitter, hopeless, non-romantic self.

but.

that stupid fucking little flame is fucking stubborn and stay around, no matter what.

and once in a while when i'm bored, the oxygen whistling through my ears fans the flame and it gets a little bigger and starts to do shadow puppet shows.

but it doesn't know how the story goes.

so the puppet shows are confusing at best.

i'm holding out for a call from tarantino for the option on some of them...

but in those sad little puppet shows, there's a struggle to figure out what the fuck domestification would really look like.

it starts out really basic: where the fuck would a significant other keep their clothes? my drawers and closet are full.

would they want to bring their own furniture into my house? FUCK NO. i like all my shit. there's no room for a barcalounger here chandler.

how would getting ready for work in the mornings go? i have a very dialed in routine. DON'T MESS WITH MY ROUTINE.

and what about getting ready for bed at night? do i have to actually let them see me without make up?

what about the nights when i have insomnia and binge watch netflix in bed? will i have to do that on the couch? will they sleep on the couch?

who get the last glass of milk? who has to run to the store on a saturday morning when you realize you're out of coffee?

i almost talk myself out of even going on a date because if one ever does go well, THEN WHAT? ugh. would i have to wash boy underwear in the laundry? the kid does his own now. boy laundry is gross.

THESE ARE IMPORTANT ISSUES.

i'm used to my space being my space. i tolerate the kid mess because i'm genetically responsible for it. it still annoys me though. HOW HARD IS IT TO NOT STICK YOUR SOCKS IN THE COUCH CUSHIONS?

what if i want to read a book and they want to do something? what if i want to do something and they think it's lame. WHAT IF THEY PUT KETCHUP ON THEIR EGGS??

ugh.

is it too late to cancel? again?

dating transparency

you know when you read someone's online social media, work, whatever profile and it breaks your bullshit meter?

especially in the online dating world, it's all about projecting the right image, selecting the right moments for the hilight reel, putting your best face forward and pushing all your positive attributes to the forefront so by the time they notice your neurosis the other person is hopelessly hooked and willing to over look flaws that may have otherwise been deal-breakers.

make sure you have the right words, make sure you have appropriate friendly but not too friendly but comfortable/casual but perfectly polished "i woke up this way" pictures, make sure you list the cool trendy habits and hobbies that you never actually do but thought about maybe trying once. make sure you list all the popular TV shows and top selling books in your "favorites" list.

make sure, make sure, make sure...

and make sure you pack your hip waders to get through the unfiltered shit if you ever get to an actual date.

i don't do well on dating sites. mostly because i'm a completely shallow bitch who rejects people for the most basic things- dead animals in their profile pictures, posting pictures of their kids on the site where millions of strangers can see them, one too many up the nose shots, pictures of your super cool babe magnet vehicle, bad hair cuts, poor hygiene that you can smell through the screen. i also instantly reject people who can't figure out how to spell the word "u" in it's full and proper form, who don't know the difference between their, they're, there, you're, your. i block users who send me "ur sexy" emails or lead off with questions about sex. i have very low tolerance for bullshit. i have ZERO knowledge of or tolerance for "strategic dating" and the proper number of days before you call or text, how to lure men in, how to effectively use ultimatums (there is no way to do this, btw), what the different wardrobes should be for evening dates vs coffee dates or after work drinks vs. weekend drinks.

bottom line: my wardrobe is limited, my personality is strong and my patience is short. i would rather get all the bullshit out and on the table at the very beginning than waste both our time on something that isn't a match. on to the next option after a five minute coffee meet up rather than 4 months of slowly realizing this isn't your jam.

and i know. there's the theory of slowly letting someone get used to you, something that may have seemed like a deal breaker may end up being endearing. maybe mute your personality for a while and slowly let the real you out.

WHICH BASICALLY MEANS YOU DON'T LIKE YOURSELF ENOUGH TO TRUST THAT SOMEONE ELSE WOULD.

it's inherently telling yourself that you're flawed and broken and not worthy of someone that will accept you, just as you are. if you have to hide pieces of yourself or "trick" someone into loving you or let them slowly decide they can tolerate you? that doesn't sound like very much fun to me.

i don't have any dating profiles up right now because, well, the dating pool needs a fuck ton of chlorine. and penicillin. and maybe a few AA meetings. and half of them need to worry more about checking in with their parole officer than checking their tinder matches. the other half are too busy at the gym GTLing to arrange time to meet up. it's a disheartening, dirty, diluted dating world out there.

BUT.

we all know me. at some point i'll venture back out into the online match making corral of shame. but next time i think i'm done worrying about being proper. this last go round my "about me" section consisted of the following: "tattooed, degreed, opinionated" short, basic, to the point.

i think for the next go round i'm going totally, unabashedly, brutally transparent.

here's to #bfhunt2016

 

this chick: single

for a very long time. take from that what you will.

short temper, high expectations.

tattooed, degreed, opionated.

i snore, don't eat anything purple and won't eat meat on the bone. i hate doing dishes but don't mind doing laundry. my house is a constant state of managed chaos- there's stacks of papers in various locations but i know what's in each one and they are all important, otherwise they wouldn't be sitting out. my house is tidy but never white glove inspection clean. i often forget (or don't want to) grocery shop, but when i do i'm a good cook. i'm not good at sharing a bed because i've had it to myself forever. i like to watch tv when i fall asleep, put the toilet paper on so it goes over the top and squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom. i have two teenagers which means i have zero patience and yell more than i should. i curse like a sailor on leave but also know there's a time and a place when it's not appropriate. i like my steaks medium well, I KNOW IT'S RUINING IT. SHUT UP. i'm not a wine snob, but know what i like or don't. i have a terrible habit of pouring myself a beer at home and not finishing it. i have favorite movies that i'll watch over and over again. same with books. i don't have any family, so honestly don't care about holidays and am terrible about birthdays and anniversaries. i'm painfully introverted but can hold my own at social gatherings. if my budget is in a friendly mood i'm up for a beer or a concert or an outing. if my budget sucks, i'm up for a movie on the couch and a little ceasars pizza. i'm not healthy- little ceasars tipped that card. i have a home gym that i never use, but the intention is there. i'm not a yoga nut, i could give a rats ass about rock climbing, going on a hike sounds like something a murderer wants to do so disposing of the body is easier. i would love to go to the beach or on a reasonable (two day maximum) camping trip. i have a short fuse and a fierce temper but a quick recovery time. i expect patience and forgiveness but am terrible about returning the favor (it's a flaw. i'm working on it). i have an itchy trigger finger and am pessimistic by nature when it comes to matters of love and life. i am fiercely loyal, brutally honest, painfully direct. i don't have time or patience for sugar coating.

i believe in marriage equality, women's rights and believe public assistance programs, while flawed, are vital. i firmly believe that sweeping judgements based on religion, skin color, ethnicity, geography are the lowest point of ignorance and stupidity.

there's my nutshell, ball of wax and soap box all in one.

now. kindly invite me out for some form of fried food or kindly fuck the hell off.

dull hooks

well, it's officially 2015 and that means only one thing: 

#bfhunt2014 has been retired and #bfhunt2015 has begun (boyfriend hunt 2015 for the non-twitter hashtag addicted crowd).

yes. this is a continuation of #bfhunt2013 as well. shut it.

with the new year comes the same old question: WHERE THE FUCK DO YOU MEET PEOPLE?

i decided a few weeks ago that i'm actually going to *TRY* to find someone to date. this is an actual conscious decision vs the previous "meh, i'll throw an online profile up and see if anything happens" which has obviously gone so well in years past. well, it DID net plenty of interesting blogs and horror stories but no real results.

SO. i sat down yesterday and started writing about WHERE do you actually go out and meet people?

"out"

WHERE THE FUCK IS "OUT"????? CAN SOMEONE PLEASE NAME A BAR "OUT" SO I KNOW WHERE TO GO?

fuck a duck sideways. i go to the theater, i go to concerts, bars, restaurants, stores, art exhibits, sporting events, OUT. most of the time i'm alone, some of the time i'm with people. ALL OF THE TIME i go home alone.

also, have you tried to go "out" as a single person? especially as a single 30+ not hollywood leading lady sized with *maybe* a bit of a...non-conventional attitude and appearance? i've tamed down over the years (no more blue hair) but there's no hiding all my tattoos. there's also no hiding my no bullshit attitude. i'm never flat rude (without provocation at least) but i'm also not a legally blonde bend-and-snap girl.

in case anyone wandering across/reading this doesn't know me, here's my nutshell: 34, 5'8", size 20, red head (from a salon, not genetics). i hold a BA in English, a steady job, own my home and car. i have 2 kids, a dog and a plant that i've kept alive for several years now. i'm not bad to look at on a good day and on a great day i can even be called pretty. i have a wealth of useless information stuffed in my head that allows me to be able to carry on a conversation with just about anyone and a sense of humor that only makes fun of you if you're not fast enough to say something right back. it's a cozy little nutshell. i've modified it and adjusted it over the years and i'm quite pleased with it.

so. i do it. i go OUT. me and my little nutshell take on the infamous OUT.

here's what happens: business men in town for a convention think i'd LOVE to be their free hooker for the night. "pretty people" pretend like i don't exist (literally leaning over me to order drinks when the rest of the bar/space is empty). if i decide to dance i'm the sad/weird girl dancing alone. if i try to initiate conversation with anyone sitting around me i'm creepy/desperate (and probably eavesdropping to boot.)

today, Bustle.com posted THIS ARTICLE about going out to bars alone in new york. i commiserate with the author on several points but the entire article holds absolutely NO water because, if you happened to miss it, the writer is NOT SINGLE. how the fuck can you honestly/accurately write about going out to a bar to get picked up when you're NOT SINGLE? at the end of the night you have a significant other to remind you that you're not invisible, that people can see you and have conversations with you. those sad looks from the bartenders? try getting those ALL THE TIME, not just the one night of the experiment. writing an article about ONE NIGHT is bullshit. get back to me when the one night out alone is the rule, not the exception.

i spent TWO YEARS going to the same bar, every wednesday to listen to a band that i adored (until they all grew up and went to colleges on the other side of the country or pursued other careers. assholes. WHAT ABOUT ME??). after two years i managed to make friends with all the bartenders and cocktail waitresses but had yet to figure out how to get along with the other people in the bar. TWO YEARS. you can't say it was for lack of trying.

so. the infamous "out" isn't a place to meet people. what else is there?

friends! have your friends hook you up!

fuck. that. shit. all my friends are either gay and/or married. not sure if you know this, the gay dating pool isn't exactly the place for a single FEMALE to fish. don't get me wrong, i LOVE visiting the gay dating pool. some of the prettiest, most in shape, most gentlemanly fish you'll ever see. they just have ZERO interest in any kind of bait i could even imagine tossing in. the fun thing is we usually have the same taste in gentlemen. the not fun part is they always win the fishing derby.

married friends tend to know other married friends. little inside tip: not many married friends are kosher with you dating their other married friends.

i may or may not have dipped into the married pool once or twice (i know, i know) and the only thing there is heartbreak and drama. even under the best of circumstances (permission on all sides: yes it exists; no, none of mine were) it's still complicated. when you have a less than above board arrangement it's just a trainwreck in perpetual slow motion. all the emotions, all the attachments, all the potential jerry springer moments waiting to happen, none of the movie watching nights.

so friends aren't a great way to meet people.
 
what about the age old grocery store or coffee shop or post office?

honestly, married, single, visiting alien from planet xenob: when is the last time you randomly talked to someone out and about? can you remember the last conversation you had in the check out line at the grocery store? or the last time you tried to joke with someone about why the price of bacon is so high? I DO AND IT WAS SUPER UNCOMFORTABLE AND THEY LOOKED AT ME LIKE I HAD JUST ADMITTED TO LIKING M NIGHT SHYAMALAN MOVIES.

what about online? or a smart phone app?

*sniff*eyeroll*sarcastic cough*

moving on.


what about being spontaneously asked out by a complete stranger? LIKE IN A ROMCOM MOVIE??

that totally happens, right?

yeah. it does.

have i ever told you the story about how i accidentally dated a pimp? it started with me walking down the street in a super cute dress on the way to get lunch and ended with a hooker telling me "if she had to share her man with anyone, she was glad it was me."

don't remember that part of the last meg ryan movie i watched.

so. as the great #bfhunt2015 kicks off (for the third consecutive year), WHERE DO I START?

no, really. where do i start?

fishing. again.

well, you knew it was coming. along with the submission to the horror that is online dating comes the tales of the stupid and scary and plain WHAT THE FUCK.

this week its a seemingly innocuous thing that is actually a HUGE affront to women.

here’s the run down:

guy with no picture in his profile contacts me. not such a big issue- many people don’t have pictures for a variety of reasons- public jobs (fire fighters, cops, politicians, etc), “screening out shallow people”, not having a picture available (total bs by the way), etc.

this guy wants to take me out for a drink. standard-ish first date idea. i prefer coffee or something where alcohol/behavioral altering substances aren’t in play. i know. total prude.

i tell him that i don’t think the idea of a TOTALLY blind date (no picture, few profile details, etc.) where alcohol is the main goal is a good idea.

so he asks for my phone number to send me a picture.

HOLD UP. you CHOOSE to not post a picture (his reason was that the guys at his work print/post profiles to harass each other and he doesn’t want them to know he has a profile) to protect your privacy/safety but you expect me to TOTALLY give mine up right off the bat?

you want to meet me where there’s alcohol involved- not safe.

you want me to give you my personal cell phone information to send a picture? NOT SAFE.

he tries to play stupid- “what am I going to do with your cell phone number?”

REALLY DUDE? REALLY? because facebook searches or google searches by phone number TOTALLY don't exist. you won’t find all my personal information, address, work, friends, etc from “just a cell phone”, yeah. sure. would you like my social security number too?

now maybe i’m being a bit over reactive. my gut tells me i’m not- especially since this guy WILL NOT LET UP. 

last thursday when the drink invite happened i told him i was busy at baseball practice for my son. he proceeded to message me every 20 minutes to see if i was done and ready for a drink. i told him no in as many ways as i could think of then stopped responding.

he messaged the next day to ask if i wanted to get that drink- i told him i was at work then busy babysitting all weekend. so he messaged to see if i wanted to stop by to say hi to him when i got off work or go out for lunch or something else. again, i just stopped responding.

TODAY he is right back at it again. at this point i’m just going to use the nifty little block button since this guy just. doesn’t. get. it. 

NO MEANS NO. not responding means no. I MEAN NO.

it might not seem like much- not posting a picture may seem reasonable. but using not posting a picture to troll for phone numbers? NO. its dangerous and rude and creepy and just- its an asshole move guys.

asking someone out to a drink- not always unreasonable. refusing to accept an answer? NOT OK

less than a week back in the old dating pool and i've been reminded SEVERAL times of how much chlorination the water needs. it’s disgusting out here. seriously- degrading, disgusting, disheartening.

and i know the response- just GO OUT and meet people. uh huh. sure. you mean like baseball/hockey/arena football games? wine tasting events? concerts? grocery shopping? coffee shops? hell, i’ve even tried “singles mingle” events (someone tranquilize me if i ever mention going to another of those again). i’m out there. i’m not the most social person, but i will start a conversation with someone if i’m interested (which rarely goes well, but that's a whole different problem).

i’m out there. i’m not HUNTING but i’m always open minded.

maybe i just need to get a burner phone or get comfortable with passing out my information like acid stickers at Woodstock.

dating blows.