First (and Maybe Last) Impressions

First off, I know many of you are wondering how my date last night went.  (Okay, like, three of you.)  If I'm being honest, I'm not sure about how it went.  I had a little nervous chatter before the date (evidence of which can be found on Twitter), but I sucked it up.  The date itself was great.  We talked and laughed and I really did enjoy myself and felt comfortable, but I don't know how he felt.  Oh, sweet mystery of life!  I could just ask him, however I'd rather fixate and make myself crazy. 

For some, the whole joy of dating is the excitement and anticipation of the first date.

Forget. That.   

First dates are nerve-wracking, sometime uncomfortable and a source for my increasingly present heartburn.  My butterflies somehow turn into bats.  What would have been a cute gesture turns into an awkward hand motion that knocks my drink onto his pants. I snort and sneeze like a machine gun and laugh entirely too hard/loud.  Food lodges itself in my teeth with inextractable force.  I start to tell a story I think is funny and forget the humorous part, so it just turns into a tale about how I was made fun of in grade school and woe is me.  While listening to my date, I zone out thinking about how I look at this precise moment and tune back in after he asks a question, which I will inevitably answer incorrectly.  I just want to get the first date over with, because then there is a possible second date where I can feel a bit more relaxed.

I have to admit, I might exaggerate a little about my nervousness for comedic effort, but I really was jittery yesterday.  I really did have a little bit of a freak out in the minutes leading up to actually going into the restaurant. I'm not sure what caused my anxiety, because, as it turns out, everything went just fine.  I was, as many people suggested, just myself and nothing went terribly wrong.  I can't ask for much more than that.

~j

Is It That Easy?

Almost four weeks ago:

I was at a red light and had the windows down to let the hot, stale air escape.  I was stuck in a little traffic.  I was singing to myself, as per usual.  I looked to my left and this pretty cute guy was looking at me smiling.  Naturally, I assumed it was because I was a dork and was completely butchering that stupid "Call Me Maybe" song. 

He shouted out, "Hey, let me get your number. I think I want to get to know you." 

I did and I thought, "Whoa.  Did that really just happen?"

Traffic moved and life went on.

Present day:

While I've texted back and forth a few times with Traffic Guy, nothing has really come of it, but that's okay because something important came out of our interaction.

A random guy asked for my number and I gave it to him.  It was simple.  It was hassle-free.  It was worry-free.  It was...great.

Is it always that easy?  It doesn't have to be an epic struggle of wills?  You don't have to worry about saying the right things?  Or wear an outfit that makes you look both thin and somehow like you didn't spend 1 hour and 45 minutes deciding on it?  Or become totally Woody Allen level neurotic and overthink everything?  Have I been going at this the wrong way this whole time?

I didn't have to do anything but be willing to put myself out there, just a little.  I was totally myself and this guy was still, beyond my own comprehension, interested.  It's not that I'm not myself when I meet guys, but I do tone down my innate goofiness/immaturity.  What's the point in that?  A complete stranger became interested while I'm belting out the lyrics of a highly age inappropriate song with total disregard of how I look to others. 

I can be me, the real me, and some guys will actually like that? Mind-boggling.  Why did it take me this long to figure that out?

~j

Lowered Expectations

I heard someone say once, "Don't anticipate, participate."  I've always thought that was a pretty great mantra to live by, because it prevents you from stressing out about how you think things should go.  If you spend all your time thinking about the way it should go and whatever it is doesn't follow that script, you become disappointed and that leads you to having a bummer time.  Who wants that?  Just take things as they come, don't expect a certain ending and have a good time!  Don't expect an ending.

Except, in dating, you should have expectations.  I'm not talking about "he's gotta have an important job/nice car/gone to an ivy league" requirements either.  You should expect that he's going to be nice, going to treat you well, going to make you important.  When did these expectations get lost?  Why are we tossing what we think we deserve to the side? 

I tend to expect less these days.  I take what guys I'm dating can give me and that's it.  I don't expect anything more for them, which really means I somehow don't think I deserve more.  Whoa, I totally just had an Oprah "A-ha" moment.  In reality, it isn't too much to ask for someone you're dating to be involved and engaged or to be around.  My wacky brain, however, thinks that is putting too much pressure on the relationship and that I should just take what I can get, whatever time they have for me.  What an awful way of thinking.

I hate the word "settling."  Despise it really, but sometimes we do settle for fear of being all alone.  Being alone, in a word, sucks.  Even if you have thousands of friends, there still isn't someone to come home to, someone to share your whole life with and that's scary.  You shouldn't settle for a person who doesn't value you or doesn't make an effort.  (BUT!, just because the guy you're dating isn't going to make 6 figures doesn't mean you are settling.  If he's kind, cares about you and wants to do right by you, who gives a flying flip that you're not going to live in a super swanky neighborhood or drive a luxury SUV?)

Having expectations for a person you are dating to be generous with their time (within reason) or to simply want to be around you isn't a bad thing.  There's isn't a reason that you shouldn't think that way.  Everyone deserves someone that makes them a priority, not just another thing to cross off their list.

~j

Theories on Why I Don't Get Asked on Dates

(Ed's Note: I have gotten asked out occasionally, so please do not feel that sorry for me.  I am not a cat lady...yet.)

I would like to think that I'm a pretty pleasant person, for the most part.  I smile, tip decently, talk to strangers (the non-creepy ones, obvs), can be charming and am generally upbeat.  If I like a guy and he seems interested, and he says something like, "Going to [insert hipstery locale/artsy event/baseball game here] is lots of fun," I respond with, "Oh, yeah, that does sound like fun!"  And I wait....and wait...and wait, but the invitation never comes.  Huh.  Dating - I'm not doing it right.

So, what am I doing wrong here?  I am agreeable to an outing and all signs point to this person being interested romantically, yet nothing happens. 

Contemplating my dateless lead to going through all the phases of fixation:
1. Denying there is a problem
2. Blaming him because he's a boy and, therefore, a dumdum
3. Could it be me? Was I too over-eager?  Was I not eager enough?
4. I hate the word eager; it just sounds questionable
5. It's definitely me
6. Should I just ask him to do something?  Is that emasculating or feminist?
7. *Heartburn*
8. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME??
9. *Diet Pepsi coma/Real Housewives marathon*

I was delving into the abyss of self-loathing when a miraculous thing happened.

Another single lady I know told me she was having the same problem, in fact, many of her friends were.  Aha!  I'm not alone!  I heard stories of women having intense phone conversations, emails, texts and/or Facebook friendships in which a date never materialized.  I know what you're thinking, "maybe that guy just wasn't that into you*."  Rest assured in many of these instances that was not the case.  Some of these guys who had been pursuing us had been pretty vocal about their intentions and still didn't ask us out.  How is this possible?

I've come to the conclusion that I'm not as obvious as I think I am.  I don't want to play all fast and loose (duh), but putting a little emphasis on wanting to see someone won't kill me.  I need to be more vocal about my attraction to the potential date, without being too, how do I say this delicately?, sluttastic.  Maybe this will give the suitor that little extra confidence he needs to ask me to dinner!

If that's not the reason I'm not getting asked on dates, there are a few alternate ideas I have come up with:
A.  I am so overwhelmingly beautiful that dudes are too scared to ask  (Probability: 1 in 10,000)
B.  I smell like a Deadliest Catch cast member (Typical Probability: 1 in 250,000, Probability after a run: 1 in 25)
C. Every man I meet is gay. (Probability: 1 in 3,000)
D.  I could just come off as a mega jerk and guys don't want to ask because they're afraid they'll hear some sarcastic comment and then get blown off.  (Probability: 1 in 10)
E.  Who knows?  Men are complicated creatures and I will never know why they do what they do, even if I get blessed with a son. (Probability: 1 in 2)

~J

How I Became A Creeper

I'm not proud of what I'm about to share with you, but I'm being honest about my sad, non-dating life.  Also, I know that I'm not the only one that has done some variation of what I did, so that makes it easier.  Anyhow, the point is that I have transitioned into a mild version of a creepy, stalker-y type person.  I'm not sure when it happened, but it did and here I am, telling you about it. 

Ed note: I'm using the term "stalker" lightly.  It's not like I'm breaking into anyone's house and stealing their pillows or pictures, so calm down. 

One day, a few weeks ago I stopped into a drugstore to get a drink (yes, Diet Pepsi, duh) and there was this cute guy in line a few people in front of me.  My brain acknowledged his attractiveness, then was promptly distracted by the row of trashy magazines featuring every member of the Kardashian clan.  (Or should it be "klan"? I'm not sure.) 

A few days later at the gas station, I saw him filling up his car while I was doing the same.  "What a coincidence!," I thought, as I got into my car and drove off.

The next day I saw him running while I was out running/walking/huffing/puffing/slightly dying.  "Hmmm. That's funny," I contemplated. "He must live around here." 

That weekend, I saw him at the grocery store.  I checked his finger - ringless!  My internal dialogue started. "This is a sign!  I've seen him 3 times in 1 week, totally accidentally.  I should speak to him!  Oh crap, he's heading toward the door! Hustle girl!"   

And that's when it happened.  We checked out at the same time and headed to our respective cars.  We drove down the same street and turned into the same entrance to the neighborhood.  He went straight and I was about to turn down my street...then I lost control of my mental faculties and followed him.  He lived just down the street, in a house I run by all the time.  Fancy that.  I made the loop, came back to my house and sat, thinking about how close Scotty (he looked like a Scott) McHottie was to me.

Naturally, I jogged by his house everyday for the rest of the week.  I thought about what time it was the last time I saw him out and tried to make sure I went around that time.  I jogged up the street and back a few times in case I missed him somehow.  At this point, I'm fairly certain that the neighbors were all staring out their windows with their fingers poised over their phones to call 911 because they thought I was casing their houses.  I had, albeit inadvertently, become a stalker. 

What was I doing?  I had literally lost my mind.  I was purposefully putting myself in a position where I could run into him and pretend it was causal and intentional.  I was 2 seconds away from becoming that girl.  Blerg.  I ran my normal loop and went home, passing his house once more on the way back for good measure.

I haven't seen Scotty McHottie since that week, but that's cool.  I know where he lives.

~j

The Maybe Date

Of the many mysteries men keep, the Maybe Date is one of the greatest sources of confusion to single women.  A man asked you to "hang out" or wanted to know if you would go to a movie with about 40 of his closest friends or invited to come see him play at some venue or asked you to come to a friends' party with him, but never really distinguished if what you were doing was, in fact, a "date."  Where does this ambiguity come from?  Fear of rejection?  Lack of awareness?  Assumption that I know what you mean?  Determination to make me suffer as much as possible?

I am going on the dreaded Maybe Date tonight.  I have no idea if what we are doing is simply hanging out (which I'm okay with) or hanging out (which I'm also okay with).  Do I worry about what I look like or do I just wear a shirt, jeans and Chucks to make it appear I'm not trying too hard?  What if, in his mind, this is our first date and I show up super causal like I don't care?  A great first impression I'll give, I'm sure.  On the other hand, what if I make myself look presentable and he's dressed down?  I end up  one of those girls on a sitcom that doesn't get that she's not on a date, and boy, doesn't she look silly and boy, don't you just feel sorry for her.

This whole thing is giving me heartburn.  Dating is hard.

I just want some clarification.  Please guys, for all that is good and holy in this world, don't use the phrase "hang out."  I used to be ambivalent to that term, but all of my soul groans when I hear it.  "WHAT DO YOU MEAN???" says my brain.  If you're actually asking me out (I know, I know - longshot!), why don't you just let me know that you are interested in taking me out, one on one.  Otherwise, say something like, "Hey friend, you're fun.  Come to meet my other fun friends and we'll all be fun and friendly together."  I need specificity.

Is it really that hard? *le sigh*

Of course, I could just ask him, but where's the fun in that?

~J 

Running Is a Four Letter Word

Over the past three years or so, I started really running.  Now, I want to make it clear that I do not like running.  Running, in return, does not like me.  This girl is not made for running.  I am made for stationary activities, like being the catcher on the softball team or crocheting or blogging.  I keep running though because its a healthy activity, gets me out of the house and because I look good in running clothes.  (Also because I can brag about running - don't act like you don't do it too.)

To the point of today's story - one of my friends told me that I was missing some not-so-obvious places where I could meet men.  (Sidenote:  Did you know that single men frequent sports bars?  I had no idea, but thanks, pal, for letting me know that one. *insert sarcasm here*)  She told me that there were all kinds of single dudes running all over certain parts of the city.  All I needed to do was go to one of those places, attempt not to run like someone was chasing me or like I was having a seizure and surely I would see some good candidates.

Going to any place, even just the park, just to parade around in hopes that maybe some guy would notice me isn't appealing to me at all.  I wouldn't normally even consider it as an option, but I decided when I started writing this thing I was going to try things I hadn't done - you know for research.  Yeah, that's it.  It had nothing to do with the hundreds of attractive, shirtless men that jog around the most popular trails in the city.  Nothing to do with that.  At all.
 
Yesterday after children's choir at church, I decided I would go to one of these hotbeds and see what there was to see.  What ended up happening wasn't pretty.  I guess in all my planning, I didn't realize how aggressive some of these runners are.  There are a few people who are like me, running for the sake of exercise, but there are some INTENSE, hardcore runners out there.  If you know me, you know I'm competitive and so I ended up running way faster than I'm used to because I was trying to prove myself.   

Here's an important fact: when I really workout I turn red.  Like, bright red. 

So, here I was running like I was on fire, turning the color of a human beet, sweating - which caused my mascara to start running and gasping for breath.  Woo!  What a treasure I must have looked like, huh?  I probably resembled a sunburned raccoon, racing away from a predator.

In the middle of all this, there was a guy who I passed, then passed me and I eventually passed again.  My brain finally switched on - hello!  He could be flirting!  He could like the sunburned raccoon look!  Get it together girl! 

He started pulling away from me, so I naturally picked up my pace.  I kept up for a while, even though all the air was being sucked from my lungs and my brain was beginning to suffer from oxygen deprivation.  He looked back a couple of times and I did the whole, "I'm not looking at you, I'm looking though you" thing.  At this point, my body was saying "STOP!  We can't do this anymore!  Don't you remember we had Long John Silver's for lunch!?!!" 

Then my hip gave out.  I had to stop cold and stretch it and away went the Running Man. 

So long, Running Man.  Thanks for the memories.