We’ve all seen what happens when a television show has stayed on the boob tube past its prime. It becomes a painful weekly exercise of writers trying to push out passable material so that their kids can have braces and their yards can have gardeners. There is even a commonly known term for the exact moment when those folks who you used to anxiously wait to show up in your living room became persona non gratis. Yes, ladies and gentlemen I am referring to the happy days inspired “jumping the shark”…and I am sorry to say that my dating life may now officially qualify.
I openly admit that since my crash and burn with good music, good sushi, good glasses guy things have been a little stunted on the dating front. And by a little I mean my new BFF netflicks-on-demand and I have been spending a lot of quality time together. A.Lot. I’ve been busy being both disturbed and inspired by the team at Hewes and Associates, falling in L-U-V with QB1 of the Dillion Panthers, and learning to sleep with the light on because of the elusive Dexter Morgan. But because of this recent “activity” in my life I have been slow to realize that I my friends may have officially given up on “find a soul mate” potential. Actually, they may have given up on my “find someone to go dutch on ice cream with” potential. Sad, but true facts to face here kids.
No longer do conversations include questions such as:
“so have you met any new boys lately?”
Because they inevitably are answered with a reaction such as:
(choke/snort into my beer…because I’m from Wisconsin…there’s usually a beer) “Ah, no. Those rivers done dried up.”
No longer do girly chats include statements such as:
“Oh.My.Word, I met the perfect guy for you. When are you free to go out with him?”
Instead they now go a little something like this:
“I think that it’s time for you to get a dog…you almost slip in the shower daily…you probably should have a lassie around to call for help.”
And then the nail in the coffin came last week. I received a wedding invitation that was address to me. And only me. No guest. Yes, it is officially expected that I will forever be eating my buffet chicken at the singles table in the back of the banquet room. Sigh. When did I officially become the poster child for amorous lost causes? I mean I know I’ve had a head shaking moment or two…or twenty that have caused many to want to turn away in horror, but seriously completely washed up at 31 and three-quarter years old? Really guys…you think? And then this happened…
I was out at a show with friends last week and after the band had finished I found myself talking to this really nice, good-looking, smart, and witty guy…for crying out loud he said “goodness gracious”. Be.Still.My.Beating.Heart. Seriously, this girl’s holy grail of male companion characteristic combination, right? And to find it in LA…forget about it.
So there I was chatting him up like I’ve done with hundreds of boys before, but what was spewing forth was not quick or engaging. It is not what would be considered look at me, love me, think I’m so funny repartee. What it can best be described as was my mouth writing a check to cover my one-way ticket to Spinsterville, population: all the single ladies.
While my recollection of the conversation is slightly clouded by the Dayquil/Maker’s Mark cocktail I was nursing, I remember there being talk of global warming and our world’s changing weather patterns, road trips across the American southwest that encompass “world’s largest”, “world’s smallest”, and “world wonder” type pit stops, and of course, the deal sealer, Nazi paraphernalia collections. Uh, yeah. You heard me right. Nazis and Weather. I mean take me home tonight material right there. It was like I was on the verbal equivalent of going down the Wikipedia rabbit hole where one seemingly benign entry leads to an eye brow raising one, which leads to blush inducing topic, and before you know it you have found yourself reading about the most prevalent communicable diseases of 16th century Venice; a topic that did not arise with my bespectacled new crush, but a new area of expertise I can bring to your next party (I’ll keep an eye out for my invitation…).
So after careful consideration, I find myself back on my couch and accepting my fate as the leader of the “cake for one” table at a wedding near you and facing the fact that it is only a matter of time before I’ve officially caught up on all five seasons of Brothers and Sisters. Sigh.
Holy crap. Yesterday’s Featured Article on Wikipedia? The Evolutionary History of Lemurs. After spending, like, hours reading the thing, I tried to remember when I went on my last really good second date. Long division, and carrying over remainders and counting on my fingers were quickly involved. I soon gave up, and a glass — “ah” “glass,” haha, we never were much for math — of Two Buck Chuck later…and the next thing I remember was being awaken by the totally trippy and genius default smart phone alarm clock tone.
Smart phone, suspect user.
That was a long run without a lfab column, great to have you back!