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402 days. 402 (plus or minus… mostly minus) posts.

Tag: bad

Day 37: Not About Dating, Part 3

Good morning, blogeeps… er, blops (What’s the shorthand for “blog readers?”), and happy New Year’s Eve to you.

On this last day of 2012, it seems only appropriate to summarize something—like a year of refusing to date. For most of 2012, I was happily buried in enormous work and dance projects. During the rest of it, I complained about how I stink at online dating.

See past blog posts for parts one and two of the “not about dating” series. You will be riveted.

Over the holidays, I took my friend Russ’s Tweeted advice to play hard to get. I stayed far away from Match and ignored every online message and wink that came my way (there were at least three). I also threw a buffer friend between myself and that guy who approached me at the dance club. I don’t go to clubs terribly often, but when I do, I go to dance, not fraternize. C’mon, man!

In retrospect, playing hard to get isn’t really that fun if there’s only one player.

That said, I do have two prospective real-life interests. Make that three.

1) A former high school classmate who lives somewhere between 1,000 and 2,000 miles away from me. Also, he might be in a relationship. And gay.

2) The cute United Express pilot who smiled at me in the PDX airport yesterday and then proceeded to get on another flight. What’s up with that? Also, I scowled at him. But don’t worry—my internet sleuthing skills rival the best researchers’ out there. I’ll find him and then do nothing.

3) Seth from The O.C. He’s smart, funny, nerdy and plays music in his real life. He’s the best!

Based on my interests, I’d say my next step is therapy.

Here’s to a year in which I avoided dating at all costs, we all survived a non-apocalypse, Girl Scouts turned 100, my friends and I laughed a thousand timessomeone reviewed my Fringe show as “a thing of wonder” and one of my neighbors burned down our dumpster. Bon Voyage, 2012! You truly were a good year.

Day 23: Not About Dating, Part 2

After last week’s post about how much I hate online dating, one of my BFFs (yeah, I said it) encouraged me to buck up and “actually try.”

Here is a collection of conversations she and I have had since then. Her husband (someone I lovingly refer to as one of my Blunt Ones) also participated.


BFF: “Your profile photo looks great!”
BFF’s husband: “What? No it doesn’t. What is that, your LinkedIn photo? You look too professional. And old.”

Action taken: A new photograph has been installed as my profile photo. I did not remove my original photo; I just made it a secondary image. (I like that photo! However, most of the gentlemen who also expressed an affinity for it were admittedly about a decade older than my preferred mate.)


Me: “Seriously, I’m done with Match. I emailed two guys and neither of them wrote back.”
BFF: “What did you say?”
Me: “Something about how I hate emailing back and forth with strangers. And how everything in Lowertown has either ‘bull’ or ‘dog’ in the name.”
BFF: “We need to work on your emails.”

Action taken: I agreed to tone down the awkwardness of my emails. I also decided to pick less normal guys.


Me: “My favorite photo is the one I posted of the gingerbread house my family and I made a couple of years ago. It’s sitting outside in the snow, sort of askew. And it’s on fire.”
BFF: (silence)
BFF’s husband: “That photo makes you seem creepy and weird.”

Action taken: I added a caption: “My family makes the best gingerbread houses.” We do.


BFF: (looking at matches on my account) “That guy looks nice! And he cooks! It says here he’s a really good chef, and he even has some pictures of his dishes… a fancy beet salad, some tuna crostini things… You should message him.”
Me: “What would I say?”
BFF’s husband: “How about, ‘Do crostinis make you feel like a giant because they’re so small?’”

Action taken: I laughed until pink champagne stung the inside of my nose. And then BFF (who is quite pregnant) asked if husband and I were going to drink the entire bottle of champagne by ourselves. We said yes.


BFF: (still looking at matches on my account) “I think you’re being too picky.”
Me: “Why, because I won’t date a smoker who thinks college is an ‘evil empire?’ And that last guy you picked for me had really big wrists.”
BFF’s husband: “Man. It’s a good thing I’m married. I would have cleaned up on Match.”

Action taken: Two sets of eye-rolls.


So. I’ll keep you posted every once in a while. Even though it pains me to blog about dating, it pains me even more to admit that it’s sort of therapeutic.