Getting back on the stupid horse

Usually I think horses are majestic creatures. But I hate this horse. I resent this horse. I want to just lay down flat on my back in the dirt and let this fucking donkey gallop away.

But I think I have to get back on. The only choice is to jam my boot in that stirrup and swing my leg over that stinky flea-infested back. Because the alternative to getting back on the dating horse is becoming the Crazy Cat Lady. And cats are way worse than horses. Horses are shy and sweet. Cats are on the devil-end of the evil spectrum…right next to ferrets. Ferrets are true evil.

So I re-activated my online dating account and I am begrudgingly answering questions about my “ideal date” or my “dream travel destination”. I’m tired of it already. It’s so time consuming. But what if he’s on there? What if he comes along and I miss him because it’s more interesting to go on Instagram and “like” photos of high school friends’ I haven’t seen in 10 years? Some of them make really delicious-looking meals that I can appreciate because I would never invest the effort to make them myself. Anyway, the point is that dating should be fun. If nothing else, it provides excellent fodder for the blog (and yes, that was another farm animal reference).

If my greatest stress in life is responding to online dating questions that must mean life is pretty great. Because that is the most unstressful problem ever. I basically feel like a horrible human for even considering it a problem. And so here is my resolve:

I resolve to stop letting this pursuit of Mr. Team-Awesome (that will be our married power couple team name) interfere with my happiness and enjoyment of the pony ride. I am going to just be happy and find some enjoyment in this process. Because I’ll be single until that moment when I’m not. And then I’ll never be single again. The darkest hour is just before dawn. Thanks Mama Cass.

Maybe there will be a man tomorrow, or maybe he’ll walk along in 5 years. My ovaries can probably hold out that long. And if they can’t, I will kick them to the curb and find another way. And if he doesn’t come along, I’ll do it alone and hire help to act in the place of a husband. It would be far less emotional and if I’m paying staff, they can’t complain about my forgetfulness or the fact that I leave dishes in the sink (it ruins a meal for me if I have to clean up after eating).

My life is too awesome to be spoiled by silly anxieties about things I cannot control. All I can do is put myself out there. So I’m on the horse. But maybe I’ll ride side saddle today. Or backwards like the daredevil I am (that’s a lie. I’m risk averse). I am Khaleesi. Boys – eat your hearts out (literally she did that…she ate a heart).

 

The slow walker, the loud talker and a shaggy man finding himself

Perhaps I’m just incredibly picky, but there were a lot of fails on my 10 dates in 10 days.

The loud talker.

This guy was enthusiastic. Like a cheerleader from Bring It On, but the difference was Kirsten Dunst was hot enough that nobody cared how annoying she was. This guy was cute, but not cute enough to make up for the dirty looks we got in this trendy hipster coffee shop while he yelled about his career plans. I tried to compensate by whispering, in hopes that he would mirror me. He did not. Instead he seemed to take it as a sign that I didn’t want to talk, so droned on incessantly (and very loudly) about himself. Cut.

The slow walker.

I walk quickly. This is not as a result of my height – I’m not tall. I walk quickly because why wouldn’t you? You’re moving from point A to point B. When you’re going somewhere, it’s about the destination, not the journey. I judge people based on their walking speed. And I don’t apologize for it. I think your walking speed is a good indicator of your approach to life. Life isn’t about smelling the roses. It’s about getting awesome shit done. I want a man who grabs life by the horns. And that means he walks fast. Slow walking is unattractive and = automatic disqualification.

The  man who doesn’t know what he wants to be when he grows up

I met with this guy who was doing his PhD. I thought that might be a good fit. Academic. A thinker. And he couldn’t possibly be intimidated by my education. When I asked about his future plans, he told me about how he was finishing his PhD and starting business school in the fall. He then told me about how he thought maybe he wanted to become a veterinarian. I’ve done a lot of schooling in my life, so my criticism is never of education. But as a 30-something-year-old man, it would be nice to see that you can at very least commit to your career and have a plan of some sort. That sort of uncertainty makes me think you might not really be down with the commitment of being married and having kids. And let’s face it, that’s the game plan. No thanks.

The shaggy man

Unless you’re calling me your moon and stars, you don’t get to have long hair. Although Tarzan holds some sort of a pheromone-related appeal, I need a partner who I can take to work events. So no.