Yay! My BFF Amanda wrote a lil’ guest post for me while I’m away! Read it and enjoy. I laughed till I cried, and then puked. And then cried again because I was covered in puke.
Dating: Not as Sexy as You May Remember
When my bestie Mrs. Jenna asked me to guest blog for her, I happily agreed. I miss blogging. I used to have the oh-so-appropriate moniker “Martini” and wrote a blog lamenting the pathetic yet amusing woes of my single life. But then I reached a level of such fame (“fame” is a relative term) that I acquired a blog stalker who was hellbent on taking me down. Downtown. So blogging came to an end for me, lest I be the subject of a Lifetime TV movie, and I’ve become a spectator of the art since, lurking on all your blogs, reading happily away, laughing until I leaked from one orifice or another.
Eager as I was to create a blog post, it’s taken me roughly two months to sit down and actually do it. See, I was at a loss for what to blog about on a “mommy blog.” Full disclosure: I’m not a mom. I’m not even (gasp) married. I know, right? I just lost about half of you.
Let’s just call a spade a spade here—I’m a hot mess when it comes to dating. In fact, I’m writing this post as I wait for a date to pick me up in 45 minutes. I’m sitting in pajamas drinking a glass of wine. Why am I not showering? Doing my hair? Smelling better? DO SOMETHING PRODUCTIVE AMANDA! Because I like to wait until the last minute, throw on something not wrinkled that shows a decent amount of cleavage (I appear smarter this way) and pray for the best. In other words, I’ve lost most of my optimistic motivation for dating to go well.
Some of my married friends have told me that they have sporadic moments of longing for their single lives, and ask to live vicariously through what they’re certain are my exciting dating adventures. I’m sure they adore their husbands and babies, but there is something seductive about that first date with a stranger. Those first sparks. The first kiss. All those firsts. And then coming home to a silent house, eating sugar wafers in bed while watching Real Housewives of New Jersey and sleeping in until 10 the next day.
I’m here as the Ghost of Singledom Past to remind you that although there are certain parts of single life that rock hardcore, I don’t think, by any stretch of the imagination, those parts are the majority. In other words, don’t be jealous of this (points to pathetically alone self).
Let’s take tonight, for example. I’m waiting for a date. Who I met on Match.com. Yep. I’m one of those girls who used to smile at the single people I knew who did online dating and say, “That’s awesome it worked for you! No, I don’t think it’s for me, but I’m so happy for you!”
I realized several months ago that I needed to eat those words like a pregnant lady eats cheese fries — quietly and without guilt (as you should). If I didn’t want to live my life as a spinster with a lot of cats and a penchant for knitting potholders in the shape of the 50 states (don’t steal that idea), I needed to be more proactive.
So a few months ago, I wrote my Match profile while decidedly tipsy (and “tipsy” may be an understatement). It’s full of sarcasm and Schwarzenegger references, aka, “the true me.” I fully intend to brag when I say that it got quite a few responses (248 at last count). That topless photo probably helped a little bit. I picked out someone I thought sounded as far from keeping a woman in a well in his basement as possible and tonight is Date No. 3, which is like a freaking milestone for me of late.
Here’s a little glimpse into how it goes getting ready for dating. Hint: It’s probably not all that different from how Angelina Jolie gets ready for date night with Brad.
6 p.m.: Wow, I have like, two hours until the date. I’m going to watch Wipeout on Hulu.
7:00: Christ, what if he comes over to pick me up and actually wants to come inside? This place looks like a fallout shelter for cats!
7:10: Turbo cleaning is commencing. Swiffer fixes all!
7:30: Sweating. Need wine.
7:45: Holy sack! He’s going to be here in 15 minutes!! FUUUUUUCK.
7:50: Text him, “Sorry to be a girl, but would 8:30 be OK?” He says “No problem, take your time.” Only in the initial stages of dating will you find this sort of man-patience.
7:55: Hair. Blowdrying.
8:00: What is that sound? Is that my cat throwing up? Oh god, on my newly Swiffered floors?! WHY DO I HAVE CATS?
8:05: OK, let’s light a apple-pie-scented candle here and regroup.
8:08: Wine.
8:10: I don’t want to iron, I’m not wearing this.
8:15: There, now I look moderately sexy without looking like I tried too hard to be moderately sexy. I’m going to celebrate my moderate sexiness by dancing in front of my mirror to Rihanna.
8:20: Is this song really about beating up your girlfriend? Wrong pre-date choice.
8:25: Man, I really should have shaved my legs again, just for good measure. They’re right on the cusp. Maybe he’ll be content just feeling up my arms.
8:27: Mother of pearl, why did I choose white? It’ll be a miracle if I walk out of that restaurant without having spilled something on me. Note to self: always wear black. Like, every day.
8:29: He’s early! A whole minute! Text: “I’ll come downstairs in one second.”
8:30: Well, that was a lie. My eyeshadow looks like it was applied by a drunk hooker. He’s going to have to wait a tic.
8:32: Oh my god, he hates me.
8:33: OK, I’m walking out of this apartment now.
8:34: I think I forgot to put on deodorant.
Don’t be fooled, marrieds. Dating is not “just like a romcom with Kate Hudson!” Dating is like going to the fair. You may think it’ll be fun at first because like meats on sticks, but then you get hit on by creepy carnies and desperately crave to speak to someone with teeth and then you go on the ferris wheel, which is fun and romantic, but you realize too late that you’re a little afraid of heights, so then you have a panic attack and throw up and when you finally leave, any optimism for mankind has been killed and all you have to show for the experience is a goldfish in a plastic bag.
Queen of analogies = me.
