The Trouble with a Dating Blog: Volume 1

I say volume one because surely there will be other things addressed on this issue, but this is the first pickle I find myself in.

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The question I always turn over is when/whether to tell a guy I’m seeing/writing about that BTW I’m writing about him. I am terrible at keeping secrets so I’ve defaulted to telling a few of the guys after a date or two, mostly just because I’m a nervous talker I guess and so it ends up blurted out. Also I’m just big on getting things out in the open and this project isn’t something I’m particularly shy about. It’s splashed pretty publicly around all of my social media, so if a guy did even the smallest amount of digging they could find it easily.

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That being the case, it’s still weird. Once a guy does know about its existence, I’m left feeling a little strange writing about him because I’m not sure if it’s a violation of his privacy or if it’ll ensure that there are no further dates or hell maybe he’s just enough of a narcissist where being written about is his end goal.

Remember how I mentioned I tend to overthink things? That paragraph just gives a peek into what my brain spins over before/during/after writing a post.

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I’ve had several conversations with people where they don’t think I should ever tell a guy I’m seeing about the blog. That’s great until of course one of our mutual friends tells the dude about it before I get the chance to and/or they add me on Facebook and therefore are privy to all the neurotic thoughts that have been poured onto these pages. And that space between a rock and a hard place is exactly where I’m at right now.

I’ve been sitting on a blog post for a day or two but I’m nervous to post it. It says nothing negative about this man because I could not think of one negative thing about him if you paid me a million dollars. Hell, he wore socks and sandals on our date and still I can’t think of a negative thing about him because dammit he managed to make socks and sandals sexy. But see that’s actually the issue. The conundrum I’m totally inventing here and probably isn’t really even a conundrum is that I want a third date with this guy, and raving about him publicly after only two dates is a scary thing to do (even though that’s basically what I did in that last paragraph). Dating blogs are weird, and writing about my thoughts/feelings about other people is still something I’m learning how to navigate through.

*20 minutes later after re-reading this post, OH WELL HERE IS THE POST I’VE BEEN NERVOUS ABOUT*

Holiday Dating is Annoying

Dating during the holidays is absolutely the worst. And no, not because of all the holiday expectations or the threat of having to buy someone a gift or any of the scary emotional stuff, but really I mean like practically: dating during the holidays is really hard. Thanksgiving, holiday parties, out of town friends coming home, more holiday parties, family events, errands, blegh so much of your time this season really just isn’t yours. Dating was slow for me over the last month, but I did squeeze one in before the madness really picked up.

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In late November/early December, I started talking to this really handsome bearded man via Tinder. As it turned out, one of my favorite friends is also a friend of his, so I got to find out the dirt pretty early. And by dirt, I mean that my friend told me he is the NICEST guy and that if the conversation stalled during our date I should just bring up Harry Potter and then she sent me an article to read about how to date a Hufflepuff. I was totally prepped and ready for our first date and while yes Harry Potter did come up, it wasn’t because the conversation stalled. And my friend was completely right, he is the NICEST guy.

We’re going to call him Neville despite that he’s a Gryffindor because Neville’s my favorite and there aren’t many prominent Hufflepuff characters in the books (who don’t die or anything). Plus he’s the hottest character anyway so here we are. Well, second hottest – I like Sirius’ brand of disheveled. Sidenote: I promise this post isn’t going to be completely about Harry Potter, sorry if I’m freaking you all out. Anyway so after the our first date in early, December holiday hell kicked in and MAN was it impossible to get anything scheduled. That being said though, I was so impressed by Neville during that time. I feel like when things get busy, most people kinda tap out and fade away. Not him though, he continued to text casually which let me know he hadn’t forgotten about me. As someone who was very, very recently ghosted I can’t even begin to tell you how appreciated that was. It just made me feel like hey, he’s still there and life is busy this time of year but I shouldn’t write him off.

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New Years Day rolled around and we fought through hangovers to have our second date – almost a full month after our first. One thing I like about Neville is that he’s just so delightfully adorable. Like when we got in his car, he was listening to Harry Potter on tape. And that he was a walking PNW stereotype, wearing flannel and wool socks and Birkenstocks. SOCKS AND SANDALS ON A SECOND DATE my eyes couldn’t believe it. And then after he dropped me off, he sent me easily one of the best post-date texts I’ve ever received. Handsome, kind, and a smidge nerdy? Yes please.

The first few dates with all the flirtation are so fun. Neville is an interesting guy and I’m looking forward to knowing him more. That’s something I want from this year of dating, more conversations and knowing people better.

Now comes the truly awkward aspect of this all: here I am writing about this guy on our dating blog and guess what? We’re friends on Facebook and therefore he knows about this blog’s existence. So hi Neville – let’s see if after reading this you still wanna have that next date you’d mentioned interest in…

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Boo Ghosts!

As someone who’s been single for basically a decade, I’ve experienced the gambit when it comes to weird situations that arise and a multitude of deal breakers and have done just about everything wrong that can be done wrong. But one thing that’s been especially frustrating to me is the concept of “ghosting.”

Gather round all ye people who haven’t been single for longer than a month! Ghosting is when you meet someone and everything’s going real well, and then they just stop responding or get aloof. It’s uncomfortable for the person getting ghosted because hi it’s terrible. I’ve been ghosted a few times now and really it’s served me well since it made me realize the importance of communication. If something’s not working out, just say it. It’s uncomfortable, but hey it’s not hurtful. You know what is hurtful? Being vulnerable and being ignored. Being hurtful intentionally is the worst and if you ghost people you should tell me so we can stop being friends. I mean it, if you ghost someone consider this our friendship breakup letter.

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I was having drinks with a male friend a little while ago, we’ll call him Bruce Willis, and I was explaining recent situations I’ve put myself into – notably about the noggin-scratcher confusion that’s happened with the Joker. Things were going well! There was potential! And things have been helter skelter terrible ever since our 5th date. I lamented about how he just disappeared and how terrible of a note we left things on, and Bruce Willis made an excellent point: life happens and I might never know what was going on that led him to that behavior.

The thing with ghosting that drives me bananas is that it’s just so sudden and seemingly without reason. However, it only seems that way since I’m on the receiving end – the person ghosting always has their reasons. Bruce Willis pointing this out made it even easier to stop wondering about the Joker, because oh well! Really, oh well. And then out of the blue he texted me. Men have a god damn radar, I swear. Small talk lasted about 5 minutes before this happened and I immediately took a screenshot and sent it to 7 of my closest friends because WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.

You guys. YOU GUYS. I could not make this shit up if I tried. Also, my reaction is proof that I am Chandler Bing and cannot react to any situation appropriately.

We continued to talk for a very long while and he answered all my questions very openly and honestly. We ended up sitting in my kitchen eating a microwave burrito and talking about Chinese food casserole, before watching “You’ve Got Mail” because Nora Ephron makes everything better and less ridiculous.

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Now, you’re probably thinking: “Great L, he owned up to what’s going on! And you’re both aware of his situation! And you made him promise to not disappear again! And hey he left his hoodie at your apartment so that means you HAVE to see him again!” Well kids, here’s the thing: I am not an optimist, I’m a realist. I don’t expect good things to happen, I expect realistic rational things to happen.

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This post doesn’t have a conclusion. It’s more of a “State of the Union” address. Right now things could go either way. We could start dating and being honest with one another, or he could Houdini again because life is chunky and complicated and he’s trying to figure out how to be a father. At the end of the day though no matter what direction this goes towards, I have an answer. I have a reason. He’s not a ghost, he’s a guy with life happening. But maybe next time he’ll be more honest, and maybe if you’re a ghost you’ll do better next time too. DO BETTER NEXT TIME EVERYONE, do me a favor and make that your dating/life goal in 2015.

Repeat Romance? Don’t Mind if I Do.

Sometimes dating brings you déjà vu moments. Like when a ghost of dating’s past shows up in your life at an opportune time, and you throw ALL caution/skepticism to the wind because… why the hell not?

A few years ago I met a boy when my heart and life was in shambles. We met at a screening of the Hunger Games, and what I remember was a) his GLORIOUS beard and b) the snack he brought was a banana. WHO BRINGS FRUIT TO A MOVIE?!

I was intrigued.

Movie flirtation led to eye flutters led to kissing led to… well, you know the rest. (BIRDS AND BEES AND STUFF.) Our little romance was brief and delightful, ending with the realization that neither of us was in a place for anything serious. Just a little post-heartbreak blip that rebound dreams are made of. Because it was a mutual “break up” (let’s be real, it wasn’t serious enough for such words.) We stayed in touch on and off. I like to keep the handsome bearded ones around, if only to stare at their faces… I’m the worst?

I think I have always wanted to have a friend with benes, but it’s never worked out. Either the people I think are just friends want to love me forever, or I read the signals all wrong– I make eyes at them, and things get awkward REAL quick. Inappropriate drunk twitter messages to cute boys I barely know? DON’T MIND IF I DO!

Let’s be real, having a “special friend” sounds kind of perfect. As I’ve lamented in many a post, I just don’t have time to be someone’s person. I know, I know “you make time for the right person.” I hear that, I think I get that, but I also don’t want to make a relationship my priority. Sorry, not sorry?

It really is the perfect time for my déjà vu moment with the most handsome man. Last night I drank ALL the whiskey, ALL the beer and made ALL the best choices. He rolled in looking delightfully rugged (I realize I’ve mentioned his handsomeness at least 3 times already, but THAT BEARD THOUGH.) and I let the eye fluttering begin immediately. Needless to say, while my hangover and 4 hours of sleep is making me feel like a puddle of terrible…

I had some fun.

The best thing about him being a déjà vu moment is I give zero fucks about trying to impress him. He knows me. We’ve been there, done that. There’s no need to redo all of that nonsense. As someone who HATES first dates, it’s nice to skip all those formalities. I gave him shit about his terrible Tinder pictures, and we ended up talking until 5 am about all the things. Comfortable right out the gate? My kind of jam.

Bottom line, a ghost from my past (that I fancy) who wants to spend some wonderful, casual time together? Sign me up. Repeat love-ahs can sometimes be the BEST idea.

I share my bed with a pile of clean laundry and some unpaid bills.

Guest Post: Jill

I sort of buried the lead there. I’m actually not that sure I’m using that phrase correctly. But I’m going to assume I’m right without doing any research and prepare to defend my position haughtily and without restraint because that’s the American way.

I have not been in a relationship since I accidentally fell in love with a boy called Adam just over 10 years ago. You read that right, I was 17. Most people would say to that, “High school doesn’t count.” Those people have probably had numerous relationships since high school and it is their prerogative to reframe their memories however they see fit. They can also s my d because for me, it counts. Since then I’ve had a series of non-emotional sexual relationships, or non-sexual emotional relationships. This is one of those confusing “two halves don’t make a whole” scenarios. Like it’s math, but it doesn’t add up. Getting an A in Algebra 2 when I was in 9th grade led me to believe I understood basic addition. Thanks a lot, Mr. Gruen.

The other problem with Adam is that he was too great. I hate saying that because we’re still friends, he might read this, and he has never suffered from low self-esteem. But seriously, when you’re a teenager and you get to date the best looking, coolest, most talented guy in school – it kind of ruins you. Like I’m not even interested if we aren’t chatting over AIM making plans to go to the drive-in or something. But I digress.

Recently, I endeavored to fucking go for it and be someone’s girlfriend. My reasoning was 3-fold: I liked him. I wanted a boyfriend. He wanted to lock it down. I was swept up in his eagerness to be exclusive, because that had literally never happened to me before. The short version of this tale is that it didn’t work out.

It began:

And then it un-began:

It is super possible that I’m not in the correct life place or head space to be in a successful relationship. A really honest version of my dating profile might say “Fat-ish, but good shaped. Extremely vain – borderline self-obsessed. Has so many best friends and close family members you will never learn all their names. Doesn’t like to do outside-y things, does like to drink expensive alcohol and play games and talk and talk and talk. And sleep. Work schedule is inconsistent. Relatively poor. Will usually have sex with you, but not during the daytime.”

The truth is, I (as most people are) am deserving of a perfectly complimentary other half. I also know that I am, and always have been, perfectly happy on my own. Plus interacting with humans on an emotional level is dangerous, confusing, and terrifying. I hear it can also be exciting, magical and rewarding. Future Jill will have to let me know if that’s true. We can’t all have dat fairy-tale lyfe, but dreams are things.

Timing is a Bitch

It’s all in the timing. I just counted, and in my 27 years, poor timing has resulted in four fine gentlemen slipping from potential partners to lost options. These ones weren’t just flings, these are the “bring home to mom” types, and I am sure we would have (and did) create some sort of magic together. Curious? Good. Because it wouldn’t be a ‘Don’t Date Us’ blog post without a little too many details, right?

The Prince: A prince, forever and always. His name will always be accompanied with a sigh and the title of “the one that got away.” He made me feel like there were a swarm of butterflies hibernating in my chest. He was bizarre and self-assured in a way that no other 20 year old could be. He was made for adventures, and knew how to create such beautiful things. He tied knots and owned multiple pocket knives. He climbed mountains, and filled his house with the smell of fresh baked bread on a regular basis (a man that can cook… I have no words.)

He would come to my house for dinner and we would sit on the kitchen floor, getting drunk on wine and college-aged concerns. One day I moved across the world, and never told him where my heart was. Ever since then it’s been a back and forth of neither of us being in a place suitable for falling for each other. It’s maddening and wonderful. He’s one of those that will always carry around a tiny bit of my heart, because men like him don’t come around twice.

The Artist: He wooed me with his words (if you can’t tell, I’m a sucker for such things.) Our courtship was built on emails that could pass as novels. Back and forth correspondence with him was my addiction. I fell into a rhythm of filling my days of monotonous work at the hospital with our conversations. From emails to phone calls to snail mail, this handsome man never failed to surprise me. His honesty and brilliance was staggering. He sent me book covers turned into postcards. He mailed me multiple mixed tapes and a cassette player (yes, they do still exist). This man collected facts like people collect coins, I learned a lot about spiders and bees from him. I don’t think I’m along in saying that there is nothing as attractive as an intelligent man. He taught me so many things, and his humble, self-defeating nature was frustrating and brilliant.

Let’s be honest, our whole relationship was frustrating and brilliant.

I didn’t imagine my guarded heart would fall in love so quickly with someone I had only met a handful of times. Going to visit him for the first time was one giant stomach drop. He waited for me at a dark bar on a street I didn’t know, and thinking about how I tapped him on the shoulder STILL gives me anxiety. Just like the way we fell in love– quick and passionate and full of honesty– we fell out. It was all too much, too quickly.

We tried to take new and exciting beyond its limits. And like anything you stretch too thin, we broke. Going from talking about marriage to packing away our life together… Well, it was terrible. But I’m grateful that this man is still a presence, and always will be. He is my person. The blue to my yellow. He’s the “ah ha!” moment, when you realize you can be an adult and break each other hearts, and still be friends.

Phew.

THAT WAS A LOT OF FEELINGS AND REAL TALK.

Which means I’m now dwelling on the “what ifs” and the “should have I fought harder” questions. And we all know how dangerous that can be.

Until next time.

First Loves.

I fell in love with him in an English literature class.

I don’t remember what we were studying, but I do remember that we were in a tiny windowless room. I had been listening to The Milk Eyed Mender on repeat, and I shared my flash cards with him, making sure to point out the words that were also scattered throughout Miss Newsom’s genius songs.

Who else can use abominably, protracted, slack-jawed AND reference Camus ALL in one song? I rest my case.

He was the good ol’ American boy. Going to college in his hometown, his parents were still happily married and he had weekend “supper” at their house. He held hands with the girl from high school, and I believe a promise ring or two had been exchanged. I was trying my promiscuous/tequila loving pants on for size, as I had spent my high school career in AP classes, playing Apples-to-Apples with the kind of kids who would go on to be the “smart ones” at Yale.

In college you had all the freedom of an adult, without the real responsibility. Sure, I broke down and bawled the first time I got a ‘C’ (calculus, you are my nemesis), and I definitely made questionable party choices. Note to self, don’t jump into the bathtub and turn off the lights hoping the cop won’t look in there, they always do. But that’s what being 18 is for, right?

I spent this weekend in my college town, which of course brings on ALL the memories. Talking to L about it, her exact words were, “nostalgia is a dangerous thing, but makes for great writing material.” I couldn’t agree more. Luckily, my heart has mended and this wave of remembering is more to remind myself of how stupid silly that first love is.

You know what I’m talking about. The first time you actually feel weak in the knees over the fella/gal, and you find yourself in those stereotypical moments that only happen in the movies. Our first kiss? In the stadium parking lot a block from my house, in his car, in the pouring rain (and I’m PRETTY sure Deathcab was on the radio.) It was after months of dramatic back and forth, and so when it finally did happen I expected the music to swell and everything to fall into place.

And it did. That summer was whiskey soaked perfection. It was that stupid cute summer romance that Nicholas Sparks writes about, without a touch of the cancer/dying/Alzheimer’s– you’d think people would notice EVERY SINGLE TERRIBLY WRITTEN STORY IS THE SAME… I digress.

And of course, like most college-to-real-adulthood romances, ours didn’t last. Three years and we had grown apathetic and bitter, and finally that perfectly crafted puzzle fell apart. Oh sure, it took me years to get over it and stitch my heart back together. Stoicism and a complete distaste for vulnerability do not lend itself to healing in a timely manner.

Being back in Bellingham isn’t nostalgic in the way that I pine for that feeling again. I know that as cliché and ridiculous as this next sentence will sound, that first love feeling only happens once. The romances that you have after that always have a tinge of broken hearts. You will always carry around past romances like boy scout badges, on proud display so you can proceed more rationally, more cautiously, with the bar set higher or lower (depending).

Needless to say, I spent this sun soaked (VERY cold) weekend walking through the woods with my hound dog, remembering. How wonderfully naïve it all was—and not just with him. I had late night adventures at the waterfall, kissing a boy I shouldn’t have. Another boy referred to himself as my “prince” (The Little Prince will always and forever be my bible), and would leave chocolate on my doorstep. He’d ask me to skip class so we could go to the beach or the mountains. He’s the one that took me to the cemetery when it was snowing after we had broken up. He kissed me and told me he’d fallen back in love with another girl.

College romances y’all, they are bright and explosive and downright beautiful. This town will be haunted with mine for eternity, and every time I come back I will hold that feeling close to my chest, fondly and forever.

How You Get the Guy

You know how when you have a SUPER exciting thing happen and then you want to keep it to yourself, just in case you jinx it by telling anyone?

That is where I’m at right now.

I am holding my cards close to my chest, eyes closed tight. Because if I show my hand, I have this pit-in-the-stomach feeling that everything will disappear. Seeing as y’all have heard QUITE a few of our crazy “we don’t know how to do this” vent sessions, I thought it might be time for a little sunshine/rainbows/potential-to-be-happy bullshit.

Let’s be real, I still have all my walls up and am over analyzing anything positive that happens to me. It’s SO. MUCH. EASIER to be negative and accept defeat before it hits you like a ton of bricks. I talked myself into a frantic panic rant (see: last post) over this fella, and had convinced myself that he was just in it for the ol’ hang and bang. The amount of Beyonce and T. Swift I listened to for those few days was outrageous.

Of course right after listening to Grown Woman for the 100th time, he asks me to dinner. I put on my sassiest pants, and steeled myself for rejection. Sporting my best ice queen face, I instantly melted the moment he started telling me a heartwarming story about traveling the world. And his laugh? God damn… it’s so charming.

Yep. I’m in trouble.

The good thing about my neurosis/panic mode was that I did stick with my, “he’s gotta like me for me” mantra. I shook off any of my impressive “look at how cool I am!” layers (let’s be real, it’s one layer. And it’s thin.) He showed up at my house and I was wearing pajamas and listening to old country. I give no fucks and no apologies for the things I like and the person I am. The even better news? He is turning out to be more of a goober than I thought.

Sure, he’s charming and handsome and he could get any girl he wanted. But he uses funny voices, cracks stupid jokes and then giggles to himself about them. He has a puppy voice, which he practices on my dog. Not going to lie, the moment he plopped down on the floor to snuggle my hound, I knew I was a goner. I think he’s charmed by the fact that I like to spend a lot of time in my kitchen, listen to podcasts and want to discuss 19th century medicine, our education system and how generational poverty is a damaging and terrifying thing.

I mean, there’s nothing as awesome as an intelligent, independent, extremely sassy lady who hates crowds, people and loud noises. Right fellas… Right?

Enough of the rainbows/sunshine/nonsense? Good, because here’s where that Don’t Date Us pessimism comes in. As L put it, “you’re like a baby deer.” I’m guarded and hyper aware of any and all “noise”. Sure, there are all kinds of signs that he likes me. He holds my hand, and says all the sweet things. He keeps making plans with me and isn’t one to silently slip out the backdoor when I’m not looking (do people actually do that? Whatever, it added some drama to the post.) Regardless, I will remain guarded, and I won’t put all my eggs in one basket. I will shy away from vulnerability, and treat it as the casual once-a-week relationship/fling/whatever it has been for the past month.

Who knows? This post could be the jinx, and I should have just kept my god damn mouth shut (HA! L and I are REALLY good at that…) Don’t worry, y’all will know what happens next, because let’s be real, secrets don’t make friends.

Week 5 Recap: ExSex and Work Love (Not as Exciting as it Sounds)

L

We’ve officially been writing for over a month, and can I be a total dork and just say thank you to everyone who’s been reading? C and I are having a lot of fun, and it’s weird but I’ve already learned and confirmed some things about what I’m looking for in just this short amount of time.

I’ve learned from sometimes I just don’t care. This week I sucked! I ignored messages from guys, stopped swiping right, and just plain didn’t feel like talking. I ate pizza and didn’t go to the gym, and I regret nothing. C and I set out here vowing commitment to one first date a week, but come on, commitment is my biggest fear. Other than sharks. But, as I said, I. Regret. Nothing. Do I wish I would have had the opportunity to flirt with a stranger? Of course. But sometimes cheese is just as enjoyable (and let’s be real, sometimes a lot more enjoyable).

I’ve learned that not all first dates will end by making plans for a second. In the past almost all my dates have resulted in a second or third or 10th date. This past month though the majority haven’t and side hugs happen. A first date I went on recently was with a total babe. Homeboy had a mun! Unfortunately though it didn’t go as I’d dreamed… AKA we didn’t end the night by making out in Ballard and I didn’t have the opportunity to ask what kind of conditioner he uses, which is all I really want from a date. The making out, not the conditioner advice. So I guess he was the MUN that got away. GET IT?! You see I say things like that and sing along to Maroon 5 sometimes, so that’s probably why I’m not cool enough to date someone with a mun who lives in Ballard.

I’ve learned that sometimes I’ll backslide with an ex and everyone will be okay. Since starting this blog, I “rekindled” things for a night with a guy I dated a while back. You can read between the lines there because someday my mom or god forbid my dad might read this blog and I’m not ready to come out and say it. It won’t be happening again, but I was relieved that when he left I didn’t feel guilty and he didn’t feel hurt. It was mutually beneficial and of course mutually enjoyable, so at least there’s that.

Lastly, I’ve learned (confirmed) that I’m pretty great at reading people. The last few weeks that I was seeing the DILF, while I enjoyed getting to know him, I could tell it wasn’t really going to go anywhere. From the beginning, I was aware he wasn’t in a place to really be dating. I mean, his separation from his wife is still pretty fresh (this sentence shows that I’m dating real adult men and that is TERRIFYING) and he has some baggage. Which might be an understatement. But what was different about this situation is he wasn’t at all interested in sharing his baggage. That made it impossible to really know him, and thus impossible to really date him. We ended our tryst very amicably last week and I really do feel like we’ll remain friends. Sorry to disappoint everyone hoping for future DILF stories, but stay tuned since I like the idea of dating a guy who’s already had someone else push out their offspring.

C

Remember how I said I was bad at dating? Yeah… that’s still a thing.

In my defense, I moved into a new house, went out of town, and then launched a new product at work, so my time for dating was in the negative. I realize those all sound like excuses, and they absolutely are. I don’t like dating, remember? Instead of reiterating how much I dislike the first date/meeting randos from the internet, I will talk about the SUPER healthy relationship I have with my job. Ew?

Case in point: I was chatting with a somewhat cute (you can never tell) fella on OKC. Just your typical back and forth banter where you try to convey a wink/eyelash flutter/whatever via words. It was going alright. True, I forgot to reply to his message for a few days because I forgot he existed, but I think that’s a case for a lot of ladies who are inundated with “I like you”, “let’s meet”, “you’re hot” messages. Honestly guys, let’s work on creativity, shall we?

I DIGRESS.

Back to the point, he basically gave up on me because in his words, “you seem too busy for me, have a nice day.” Straight and to the point, I’ll give him that. And yes, this is a problem of mine. Thank you for pointing that out, random OKC dude. A darling friend of mine in Texas once told me that if I ever want to be happy with a boy, I’ll have to actually make the relationship a priority. I’ve never been one to put the fella first. Not then, and not now. I guess that’s why the few good ones I did have finally burnt out after years of falling below my family, friends, dog, job, etc.

Meh? Too bad? Yeah, I probably work too much. But I love my job, and if I’d rather work than go on a first date… well, that says something. Perhaps the entirety of my 20s is meant to be a time where I put myself first, and worry about finding a partner second (or third, or tenth…) I have always chalked it up to selfishness, but fuck that. It’s not selfish to put yourself first, especially if you’re happy where you are in life, partnered or alone. God damn, this “dating” blog just turned into more of a “screw dating, I’m going to do whatever I want, whenever I want.”

Wasn’t I supposed to learn something in this process? You can’t teach a stubborn gal new tricks… or something.

Tinder Flings & Why I Fail at Online Dating

Oh man… I am bad at this online dating thing.

I have this friend who is a TOTAL babe, and a complete goddess to me on all levels. She’s talented, independent, amazingly smart and makes being single look good.

She has got online dating down to a science. She’s met long term boyfriends, one night flings and everything in between. The girl keeps ongoing long distance lovers who fly across the country to take her on romantic camping trips. I mean… what?!

Needless to say, she was my source of inspiration when I took off to Denver for a few days.

True, I was there for work. Also true, my work involved helping out at the Great American Beer Festival. IMAGINE THE JOY THAT IS ALL THE BEER AND ALL THE BEARDS! It really was a perfect Tinder storm.

And this is where I tell you about my string of one night whatevers (EAR MUFFS, MOM.) Except that didn’t happen. Not even one bit. I think I went on Tinder for about 10 minutes, and then turned my attention to much more important things (see: beer). I was lucky that I didn’t have to wander Denver by myself, as one of my closest friends from work likes beer even more than me (shocking) and joined me for the weekend. So the time I would have spent searching for a random date was spent with someone where small talk wasn’t on the agenda. Thank god.

Total Babe (that’s your new nickname M, you’re welcome) texted me immediately when I got home to ask how my flings went. I told her that I didn’t have one. Not a single fling. Do I regret it? Not at all. A) there were so many handsome fellas to ogle at while consuming mass amounts of beer and B) I would so much rather spend my time with people I KNOW I want to be friends with. I don’t know if that means I will forever be alone because I don’t want to put the effort into trying, or if it truly does mean internet dating isn’t for me.

Every time I try to convince myself it is, I fall back on that idea that chemistry doesn’t just happen because you swipe right. Sure, they can say they build canoes and climb trees, but what happens when you meet them and instead of your canoe building dreamboat (PUNS!) you meet a spark-less narcissistic ass hat who reminds you why your dog is your favorite “person”?

And this is why I fail at dating. I can convince myself on repeat that it’s not worth it, and I don’t want to tell the story of how I read an online profile and fell in love. I don’t have the patience to read profiles and try to find the spark. Because there’s nothing romantic about that.

And this is why my OKC/TINDER/WHATEVER matches shouldn’t date me. Swipe left boys, I’m 90% certain to disappoint.

Dating on a Diet

I am known to do crazy food challenges.

Not like “I hate my body and will only eat celery” diets, but I’m a sucker for a good juice cleanse. People in my office already are at the eye rolling point when I pull out my green juice and claim my “Sober September” as an excuse for not joining in on 4 pm wine hour.

I think I need a challenge every once in awhile or you’ll find me shoving all the popcorn/whiskey/beer and chocolate in my face. What does this have to do with dating? Calm down. I’m getting there.

Have any of YOU tried to go on a blind first date stone cold sober? Yeah… it’s a thing that people do, and I don’t recommend it. That’s not to say I’m shit faced and slurring words when I meet the guy, but there’s nothing quite like a pre-date beer to calm the nerves. That way, if they carry on for a solid hour about asinine bullshit you don’t care about (I know, I know… I’m the worst) you can keep your hands and brain busy.

Sweet, sweet alcohol… it dulls the senses and lowers the standards. What was a 4 turns up to a 7. It causes me to lean in closer, flutter my eyelashes, and I might even kiss the guy if it’s a two-drink kind of night. GETTING CRAZY Y’ALL.

So when L and I decided to dive into dating, it was in the middle of my Sober September and I had just started the Whole30. If y’all don’t know what that is, just imagine eating only vegetables and eggs for 30 days straight, and that’s basically where I’m at. This means I’m the crazy lady who, when asked to go to dinner, stated, “I would love to, but can we go to a place where legumes, dairy, sugar and grains of any sort aren’t on the menu?”

…

Yep, I’m sure I’m one giant red flag to a lot of dudes. No one wants to date the high maintenance ones who require so many extra steps it’s easier to just throw a bag of spinach at them and call it a day. At first, I was steering the dudes away from any sort of dates involving eating. They’d ask me to dinner and I’d say, “I see your dinner and I raise you one glass of dandelion tea.” WORKS LIKE A CHARM. Nothing says total babe like detox beverages, am I right?

Then I said fuck it. Here’s the thing, I’m going to continue to cleanse every once in awhile. I don’t have to explain it to my eye-rolling pals, and I most certainly don’t have to justify it to a random dude from the internet. When asked to dinner recently, I clearly outlined the restrictions of my diet and the fella not only researched and found a restaurant, I didn’t see or hear ANY shit about it.

And that, my friends, is how you score a second date with this kale and beet-loving weirdo.