Dating has never been my strongest suit. Shocking revelation: It still isn’t.
A few months ago, with assistance from Kyknoord, my cat Teva dressed up in a tasteful business suit, took a cold, hard look at my nonexistent sex life and tried unsuccessfully to sign me up for Match.com.
I don’t do everything Teva tells me to do. She isn’t the boss of me. I’m my own person. I joined OkCupid instead.
I registered because I’m lonely because it’s free for the sake of the blog to silence a few of my more persistent friends, who kept insisting that I ought to “get back on the horse,” and that “there are more fish in the sea.” But I’m not an equestrian. And ever since childhood I’ve harbored an irrational fear of seafood. And it’s unclear to me what equines and aquatic creatures have to do with my quest for intimacy, although it would at least partially explain all the Googlers who find this blog searching for “animalsexfun.com.” (Please stop. It’s creepy.)
In my 29 years, I’ve never – ever – dated casually. Well, that’s not totally true. On one recent occasion, someone appears to have dated me casually. I just didn’t know it at the time.
A laissez-faire approach to my love life has never appealed to me. I’ve always been an all-or-nothing kind of gal. Unfortunate emphasis on the nothing.
I’m not sure whether I was in need of a distraction or diversion, but in a moment of weakness, I decreed that August would be “The Month of Casual Dating.” Kind of like Joan Didion‘s tome, “The Year of Magical Thinking.” Except 11 months shorter. And with considerably less thinking on the part of my temporary companions. And neither Joan Didion nor I experienced much magic. I was *seriously* misled by the title of that book. Spoiler alert: It isn’t about magicians.
So, although it’s totally out of character for me, I went out with anyone who made the effort to electronically extend an invitation. I’ve been dating up a storm. If pressed to be more specific, I’d say it’s been a shit storm.
A few craptastic examples:
I shared cookies and coffees with a librarian, whose life I learned was apparently the opposite of an open book. SHE BARELY SPOKE.
A third-year med school student and I chugged chai during a study break. She was attractive, smart, personable and worldly. So worldly, in fact, that she nonchalantly worked into the conversation that she’s MOVING TO AFRICA.
Later that day – that’s right, two dates in 24 hours – I met a web designer for beers. My excitement about her was threefold: 1) she was hott; 2.) she would be valuable to recruit for Googlez, my Sapphic search engine invention; and 3.) she was hott. That’s how today’s youths spell “hot.” Maybe. Just one caveat: SHE SHOWED UP DRUNK. Not tipsy. Fall-down, slur-your-words, push-your-beer-from-side-to-side-because-if-you-take-one-more-sip–you’ll-vom drunk.
I always had a hunch it’s nearly impossible to find a girl who is capable of conversation, living in my hemisphere and not struggling with sobriety. Now I know for sure. That’s the knowledge I’m taking away from this social experiment that I’m passing along to you. You’re welcome.
Today is September 1; the Month of Casual Dating is officially over. Because that’s how months work.
Although I’d suspected it all along, now I can say for sure that I tried casual dating on for size, and it is *so* not the right fit for me. Unlike Teva, who looks fabulous in a suit, I prefer to dress – not date – casually.
For better or worse, whether or not it’s in vogue, I’m holding out hope to slip into something more comfortable. It’s hanging on by the thinnest of threads.
P.S. An AWC shout-out to Emily and Naomi, who put on their most stylish yenta hats and set me up with a Jewish doctor for my first blind date ever (and also the first one that I’ve landed at least in part thanks to this blog). You guys are finally starting to wise up to the fact that I need serious help. I’ve been saying that all along.
P.P.S. Heartfelt thanks to Roxanne, who mentioned me in an awesome post about female bloggers. If she lived in my region of the country, and if she were remotely interested in me, and if I didn’t totally despise dating, I totally would be all over this girl. If only.
P.P.P.S. In addition to having a keen eye for feline fashion, my pal Kyknoord – in light of my recent religious confusion – sent me a drawing that explains the Holy Trinity in a way my non-believing brain can finally understand. I really think he’s nailed it. I’ve *got* to stop talking about nails and Jesus at the same time. Behold: