After some serious over-analysis of last night’s—or last week’s (depending on when I post this or when you read this I guess, whatever catch up here)—disaster as per my relentless, neurotic M.O., I’ve realized what a disease my involuntary fantasies can be. You know the ones. You meet a guy and one thing or another leads you to think, “hm he could be kinda great.” And this naturally leads to thoughts of which matching sweater vests you should wear in your Christmas card picture. Even though logically you know it probably won’t get past the first few glasses of wine after you somehow manage to insult his mother, favorite sports team and haircut—in that order. It’s hard to keep your mind from trotting along to some blissful utopian where he is thoughtfully arty, hates watching football and loves doing dishes.
Tick Tock
This post is going to be practically live-blogging magic right here. Partially because a post idea just popped into my mildly attractive little head and partially because I need to vent. Here’s the scoop, I had a date set for approximately four this evening with a young gent I met a couple weeks ago. He’s cute and seemingly sweet…BUT he postponed the first date for what was, at first, an indefinite amount of time. Then it turned into two hours. By this point I’m a little bit seething at myself for agreeing to wait like a pathetic little fool and a little bit ready to stick my carefully selected stiletto boot heel into his eye.
The Temp
Sometimes it feels damn good to have that mushy, connected-deeply-to-another-soul crap in our lives doesn’t it? So much so that you’ll go to strange (though maybe not great) lengths to get it from places and people you maybe shouldn’t. Most likely from some guy (or girl) who is there to fill in for just long enough to make you feel loveable and capable of real human emotions on occasion. Because sometimes you forget how to feel feelings when you aren’t constantly bickering with the one you love. And that’s no good, right? So what better way to deal with it than some truly unhealthy and delusional fauxmance? (See what I did there? That’s a portmanteaux kids. Pretend like nobody’s ever used that blend before.)
Hear No Evil See No Evil Post No Evil
Last week Cheaterville.com was in the “news” for a sketchy ad they had designed to apparently warn the celebrities of the Toronto Film Festival against stepping out on their significant others between indie screenings and Q and A sessions. The concept of the site is similar to the original intent of Dontdatehimgirl.com, before they gave over to pressure (and, seemingly, human decency). Basically when someone feels they’ve been wronged by a cheating spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend/unusually close pet, they take to the site to rant in horrific detail about the transgressions of the trollop/whatever the male version of a trollop is. Best of all they get to include pictures and a detailed description of the cheater including height, weight, location, ethnicity and sign—the FBI doesn’t have files this extensive.
I’m So Awesome You Don’t Even Know
For those of us without Gwyneth legs, Marilyn eyes and Angelina lips (or, for the men, Brad abs, George eyes and Jon Hamm…well Jon Hammness), I think dating is a bit easier when we are forced to spend time with the potential love muffin prior to introducing romance to the situation. (Please don’t read this and then go off and kidnap that hot guy and hold him captive until Stolkholm syndrome sets in, you know that’s not what I mean.) I mentioned before that it’s easier to meet people in college, in part because you are around these people daily, giving love a chance to blossom gradually. Basically they get to know you and then they love you. In the real world it’s the opposite. I love you(r hair/eyes/biceps) so I will get to know you.
The State of Atrophying Etiquette As It Affects Dating
There are so many things in this modern life that would have Emily Post clutching her pearls if she were alive to witness them. Over-sharing via the Interwebz (I know, I know, I’m the pot), cell phones glued to hands and eyes glued to cell phones and ears glued to headphones during dinner with no regard for the company we are in and forget about the good old standards like standing up as a lady leaves the table or R.S.V.P.ing to an event.
Oh The Folly of Young Love
Many moons ago I wronged a former boyfriend egregiously. It was a confusing time in my young life and I was making some selfish, ill-informed decisions that I wish I hadn’t if only for the fact that I was kind of a jerk to aforementioned boyfriend. I re-friended this former flame on Facebook today (our paths have virtually crossed due to mutual friends and we’ve ever-so-maturely decided to let bygones be bygones) and discovered that the always-vigilant social media powerhouse had kindly saved all the messages of our past life together five years earlier. And, man, love makes me moronic.
This Has To Be It.
Sometimes I get the impression that love is like musical chairs. You switch loverkinses until the point when you are ready to settle down and once you reach that age or life-change, that chair better be available or you’re going home without any wedding cake.
Hollywood, How Do I Loathe to Love Thee?
Hail to the V
Yes I’m going to pay homage to the loverly women in my life again. It’s been a rough week (though today pretty much rocked my socks off) and in moments where I was “turning grim about the mouth and ready to knock people’s hats off and take to the sea” (Melville will just have to forgive me for that slaughtered paraphrase) my girls came to the rescue. This is a shout out to a different group of girls than the ones who inspired this post.