Though I may be going down, I'll take in flame over burning out

I went on a date on Thursday.  My first date date in...well.  Let's not talk about that.  I am truly brilliant at failing at anything remotely romantic.  But, I've decided to turn this around.  I may still fail, but I'd love to at least have something good to write about.  I will no longer be terrified of the first date.  I will go on dates!  And then, I will come home and write about them!  And I will be brutally honest and you will be welcome to laugh because dating is a silly thing that is not to be taken too seriously. 

About every 2 years I get bored with the not meeting anyone in real life scene and re-surface on the internet dating scene.  I don't know why I do it to myself because it's never gone well.  I've been dumped by men I was never interested in, I've been stood up and ignored, and I've suffered a few minor self-induced panic attacks over the stress of it all.  Oh yeah!  And I've been slapped in a parking lot!  That's a good story...now. 

I've been watching a lot of Sex and the City lately (still no cable, so it's just about all I got) so pre-date I had to remind myself that dating isn't actually about Valentino dresses with Manolo Blahnik heels and incredibly comfortable yet witty banter with seemingly perfect men.  But still, if those girls do anything right, it's that they just don't take dating too seriously.  "No" doesn't really appear in their vocabulary, and maybe that's a better way to go. 

So back to the date.  After an intense amount of deliberation via Facebook over flip flops versus heels, I donned my tightest jeans and cutest heels (Steve Madden, Manolos are still just a pipe dream) and headed to the chosen meeting place.  Which was closed.  As was the 2nd place he suggested.  Third time was a charm and you know, the date was nice!  I had fun!  It was great!  No spark, but I didn't have a bad time.  Until I got home and the incessant texting began.  And continued into the next day, with a text (yes, text, not a phone call) asking for date number two.  That.  Night.  C'mon, dude.  Overzealous much?  1) Women actually PLAN their weekends  2) Back to back nights?  Really?  3) STOP WITH THE TEXTS IT'S CREEPY AND YOU OFFICIALLY LOOK DESPERATE.  Fellas?  You know that standard 3-days-till-you-call rule?  We need that space just as much as you do, because women take time to process and live for the thrill of the "does he like me?  I hope he likes me!" drama.  Women need drama.  It's true.  I will happily admit it. 

The good news is that since texting is his chosen form of communication, I am officially off the hook for an uncomfortable phone call and can instead send an awkward "it's not you, it's me (but it's really you)" text to follow up to the next he'll send.  Gross. 

My account on okcupid has since been disabled and I think I'm going to keep it offline moving forward.  I have too many single girlfriends that I can spend my nights and weekends trolling the bar scenes and hiking mountains and going to sporting events with to find real live men who I can actually tell if there's a potential spark with before subjecting myself to first date jitters.  Or?  Blog readers?  Know any (preferably non-creepy, non-clingy, super awesome) single men in need of a little female companionship?  Send 'em my way.  I'll wear heels, act cute, and then tell you all about it the next day.

Jump start my kaleidoscope heart, love to watch the colors fade

I'll write soon.  Really.  I will.  But in the meantime, I am going to let Sara Bareilles and friends tell you EXACTLY how I am feeling.

Seriously.

The lyrics, the mood, the bridge.  It's like she got a snapshot of my innermost workings and set it to a really amazing melody.  I love music.  It makes me feel less alone.



And for the record, I am fine.  Just, you know.  Figuring stuff out.  Occasionally wishing my life came with a manual or a crystal ball or something,  so  that from time to time I could just check in or read the index and at least make sure I'm close-ish to the right track.

But really, what would be the fun in that?