Tagged with bad dates

Oh, Dating.

Dear Every Person:

Just once I would like my love life to be simple. JUST ONCE. I mean, I’m a nice girl. I’m funny. I’ve got some sass. I HAVE AN INCOME. And a life. I drive a Hyundai Elantra, for Christ sake. I can talk – or not talk – (anyone?!) forever. And people generally like being around me.

I have had some many dumb relationships and/or dates. Like, enough to write a book. Some highlights:

7th Grade Brian
My first real boyfriend. He was the star basketball player, I was Student Council President (and pretty good at basketball, myself). A total match made in heaven. And, my longest relationship to date. Did I mention I’m on the verge of turning 34?

Yes, I just cried, too.

Brian and I had a lovely go of it – over a year, in fact! Minus that two-week period I dumped him for a certain 8th grade man, but then realized the new guy might like boys just as much as me (He watched Golden Girls every night at 10:30pm) (Also, I mark this point in my life as the beginning of my love affair with the gays. Hay gurls!). Brian and I persevered. He now lives with his girlfriend in Phoenix, AZ. Not that I keep taps on him or anything…

The Sequence of Matts
Yes. I dated three “Matts” in a row in my 20s. It got a little confusing referencing them with my girlfriends so we deemed them 1, 2 and 3. Imagine how a conversations went. Nothing too remarkable about anyone of them except Matt 1’s uni-brow. Hopefully his wife “JENNY” (do you see a pattern here?!) has helped him out with that.

Alcoholic Kevin
When my mom asks me why I’m not married, I often defer to Kevin. Oh, Kevin. I met Kevin in a bar (wha?!) where he used the go-to pick up line of “What do you do?!” I told him I played triangle with a local band because “…every great band needs a triangle player…” You should know this was eons before Will Ferrell and the infamous More Cowbell skit. What can I say, people?! Sometimes you just get blinded by the hotness. And, Kevin was very hot. And a closet alcoholic that lived in his mom’s basement. But, when you are 26 this kind of stuff doesn’t matter as much as when you are 34. At 26, you can make these kind of mistakes, because you don’t have mature adult dinner parties or charity events to attend. Instead, you are dancing to the house band Mayslack’s and taking Jag Bombs twice a week. Or at least you were in 2002.

The hotness almost always masks a whole lot of crazy, too. Like, sitoutsideyourhouseandwaitforyoutocomehomeatallhoursofthenight crazy. See, Mom? You should be proud I had good enough judgement not to settle down with Alcoholic Kevin.

One Hand Guy
Now, this one is a crowd favorite. My friends make me tell this story at least a few times a month, annnnd usually upon meeting a new friend. So that’s…awkward.

This is a story that boasts the true testament of set-ups. Please, please note the sarcasm. One of my old girlfriends had a brilliant idea of setting me up with one of her friend’s boyfriend’s friends. Get that? He called me, so, that’s a plus. And we decided we were going to meet for drinks at the Loring Pasta Bar.

This is where things went bad.

When I walked in, he was already seated at the bar with his hands in his pockets. He got up to greet me, we shook hands, no big deal. He was decently cute, but after speaking for all of 1 minute his douchey-ness was raring it’s ugly head. Gross. He told me ALL about his job selling payroll systems. Riveting. He talked a big game about how much money he made. Annnddd managed to be extremely racist.

Thankfully, one of my old college friends was bartending that night – she definitely made sure I was adequately lubricated to make it through the remaining date. It was brutal. Absolutely brutal.

Once I finally got out of there, I called my girlfriend from the car. Our conversation went something like this:

Friend: So, how was it?
Me: Ummm…
Friend: What did you think of him?
Me: Ummm…
Friend: What did you think about his hand?
Me: What?
Friend: Yeah, he only has one hand. Born that way, I guess. What did you think?

Okay. Remember when I stated at the beginning of this relationship synopsis and I told you he was sitting at the bar with his hands in his pockets? Looking back I realized he. never. took. his. left. hand. out. of. said. pocket. He only had one hand! And I never even noticed.

Which leads me to this:

Dude was born with one hand. Which means, by the time we met, he had been living with out said hand for HIS WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE. Come on, dude. Embrace it, already. So weird that he was so self-conscious about it, no?

I compare this to guys that are bald. How? Let me explain:

Bald guys of the world, we know you are bald. You can’t hide it with a hat. And that’s okay. Bald can be sexy. Hair can be sexy. But even more so, confidence is sexy. Own what you got. Because when you go from that winter hat to baseball hat back to winter hat, I still know you are bald.

More on my dating exploits to come…

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