September 11, 2009 by mypolaropposite
Find me a date. No, seriously.
Perhaps its time for me to start dating again. I don’t mind being single and I don’t care about eating alone or being alone or doing anything else alone. Except for vacations. I do prefer to travel alone, but once I get where I’m going its usually twice as expensive to be by myself than it is to stay a deux. Particularly at my age, when single friends are dwindling in numbers, it gets ever harder to convince someone to go someplace with me on the rare occasion that I’m sick of myself and want some company. Then there’s scoring a date for all those weddings people insist on having so I won’t get all weepy and wistful during the new marrieds’ first dance or the other slow songs the DJ is obligated to play.
But how does one find a suitable date, let alone a suitable mate? Honestly, I don’t know how people get together. Sometimes it seems like lightening striking or an act of God, which is how people who’ve found each other generally describe it. Now how is that supposed to help me? I’ve met men at parties, bars, clubs. Nope, nope, nope. I’ve turned friendships into relationships, which nobody recommends and me least of all. Internet dating is the worst of the worst. Everyone knows couples who met online and fell in love and got married and are living happily ever after. I do as well and I’m sincerely happy for them. But for me, let’s just say that I’ve dated a good many men I met on Match or eHarmony or whatever, and there’s a reason we never crossed paths before, and a reason we never will again without the information superhighway. 29 dimensions of compatibility my eye! Lots of you will tell me I’m wrong so right on ahead. Like the MBA that I am, I’ve done the research and run the numbers, and internet dating isn’t a good investment at this juncture.
I could always go out with some of the random men that hit on me daily, pass out my phone number a few times, except for the fact that I don’t want a bunch of random men walking around with my number. Or I could act like a man and ask every somewhat attractive male that I see to go out with me. First, I just don’t have that kind of game because, though well socialized, I’m still a dork. Second, I don’t really see anyone who looks so good that, hot damn, I gotta get him and fast. If you want to know the truth, and I know you do, I have flipped the script before. No, not that one. There was a time not so long ago when all I wanted was to get laid. Not exactly dating, but bear with me here. Now you have to understand that at that time, I looked a lot more like the stereotypical male fantasy of beauty than the rotund, natural-haired woman I am today. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still the shit no matter how much I weigh, just that some people don’t see it that way. Anyhow, I trolled the bars, had the obligatory public drunken make-out sessions and put myself out there like a tramp. Know what happened? Nothing. Apparently I fell into the alternate NY universe where men want relationships and not casual sex. So much for men wanting only one thing: turned out that my mother was actually wrong about something. Only once, though. I mean, who did I have to sleep with to get laid in this town? That would make a catchy title for a book if I could stomach enough sexual free-for-all to do the research. It turns out that I can’t.
Some time later, after another annoying relationship that started out okay (yeah, I met him on the internet), I decided to give the men-for-sex-only thing another try, but in a classified ad kinda way. That’s right, kids, I went to craigslist, purveyors of the one night stand. They probably own stock in condom companies. Here, one can have all the sex they want, but it turns out that I didn’t want it at all. I was just bored and oddly intrigued by the kind of people who photograph their genitals and post them on message boards. It seems that penises, like casual sex, are better when they’re attached to a man you like. Or at least one whose last name you know. I got nothing from that period of my life but funny stories and a pin from a Naval Officer during Fleet Week. Come to think of it, I did complete my “Men of the Armed Forces” collection with that Marine from St. Patricks Day. Happily I have no other souvenirs, hence my comment about owning stock in prophylaxis.
But back to my original topic and my potential journey from singledom. I’ve looked everywhere for men, with the exception of church and prison. Jail is a no-go, and quite frankly so is church. To me, the sanctuary is a sterile environment, hence the name, and I’m really not thinking about men when I go in there. Besides, extending the Right Hand of Fellowship doesn’t include copping a feel or slipping someone your number. I have been hit on in church, mind you, and with all manner of Christian kindness I say to men looking to score at the 9:30 service, keep your hands to yourself and God bless you. Now if you want to strike up a relevant conversation in the vestibule and dovetail that into “would you like to continue this fascinating discussion about Pastor’s interpretation of Luke?”, I can dig it. Just don’t let the rest of the single women in the church see us ’cause I don’t like gossipy whispering while I’m on the tithing line. Amen.
So, friends, here I am. Single and looking to mingle. And by “mingle” I mean dating where sex is not expected at the end of it, or in lieu of it, but could probably be worked in at an appropriate time in the future if both parties are amenable. I’ll probably regret this but I’m offering a challenge: Date Me or Find me a Date. If you’re a single straight man reading this, and you’re as intrigued and amused by my ramblings as you should be, let’s go out for a drink or coffee. If I’ve tagged you in this note on Facebook, a witty and/or hilarious explanation will be the only accepted form of rejection. Or that you’re kinda seeing someone. I may put it all out there, but not that far out there.
If you’re not single, or are a woman, you are obligated to find me a date that you think I might like. There’s plenty of written fodder you can use to figure that out. No fair being married and setting me up with your only single male friend who still lives with his mother and collects Princess Diana dolls. And no fair introducing me to the only Black man you know, even though he has no sense of humor, didn’t finish high school, and his last 3 girlfriends have looked like Gwyneth Paltrow. Use some discretion, okay?
As an added bonus, I have many single female friends/cousins/coworkers/classmates of all sizes and colors and I’m willing to introduce them to some new fellas. You know, pay it forward.
If I were to write a 1980’s-style personals ad for myself, it would go something like this: “Sarcastic, sexy smartypants seeks similar for scintillating conversation over coffee or drinks. D/D free. Age, race unimportant, but opinions and height are. Democrats preferred, but willing to argue with M.O.R. Republicans. No prudes.”
What do you have to lose? Worst case, you’ll have stories to tell your friends. Best case, I’ll have stories to write for my friends. Don’t worry: I won’t use real names.