Dating, holidays, and other mis-adventures

I have been pretty quiet as of late.  If this unsettles you, well, it should.  Because when I get quiet either two things are happening:
1.  nothing
2.  shit that I cannot talk about because my mom reads this blog

Now your mind is reeling, I just know it.  What could I possibly be doing that is SO bad, that even I could not publish it?  I hate to disappoint, but the truth is, my life has become option number 1.  Not a damn thing has been happening. I was going through this “I want to stay home, drink vodka, stay in my PJ’s curled into the fetal position, and get all my nutritional needs from Nutella” phase.  'Cuz it says right there on the container, part of a balanced breakfast.  But I digress.

The holidays normally have me in a funk.  While it seems that everyone around me is having a good old time drinking eggnog and decorating the Christmas tree with their 2.3 kids, I am reduced to sending out passive-aggressive text messages (my official conflict resolution strategy) as to why I do not want to go to some holiday party and wear the mistletoe headband my aunt sent me out of shear desperation to get me married off. I hate to break it to my aunt, but those mistletoe headbands don't exactly attract nice guys.

The other day I am at a party and a cute, dimple-faced guy starts flirting with me. Now, just to be clear, this is the first time a stranger has flirted with me since a drunken homeless man tried to cop a feel while I was dancing at the drum circle this spring. The flirting was fun, but I have learned not to hold my breath anymore. I don't immediately start fantasizing that said “cute, dimple-faced guy” and I to run together in slow motion, arms outstretched in a field of dandelions. So, I didn’t think too much about the flirting. Until he facebooked me the next day.  Whaaa?!?  A cute guy is asking me out on a date?  Oh, yea.  It is ‘cuz I got that boom-boom-pow-dem-chickenz-jackin-mah-style going on baby!  

To be honest, he really wasn’t my type.  No beard.  No Mountain Hardware clothes.  And he didn’t get my nerd jokes.  But, hey.  Who am I kidding?  I am no longer 23 years old, living a carefree life by flinging my fertile eggs off of tiny little spoons onto the streets.  I have goals in life ~ more than just collecting taco bell hot sauce packets from craigslist.  Anyhoo, we go out to dinner, attend a play, and go to the wine bar afterward.  We talk, we laugh, we kiss.  At the end of the evening he says, “I would love to see you again,” with that sparkle in his eye.  Fist pump!

And I never hear from him again.  He even goes as far as ignoring my follow-up text. Seriously.  What tha fuck?  I mean, I realize I may not be the most awesome date ever (my skills are rusty) but at least some common courtesy would be nice. Maybe it was hard for him to be honest because of his learning disability. What is it called again? Alcoholism? Some people deserve a high five. If the face. With a chair.

After this latest round of rejection, I come to a couple of realizations:

1. I have been on auto-pilot recently, not giving any effort to dating. It is like when you drive home from work and all of a sudden you are at your house and have no recollection of getting there? Then you start to weird yourself out to the point where you don't tell anyone because you're either having a small stroke or are just incredibly bored with life.
2. I have blog fodder.  Finally, I have bad jokes and stories to embellish about.

These realizations lead me to a decision; I am going to sign up for matchdotcom.  

Quite honestly, it is one part boredom, one part desperation (effing holidays!), and one part glee that I will have more blog fodder.  I realize this may not the the smartest move I have ever made, but seriously, when have I done anything that makes sense?

So, since I am one step above the poverty line, if anyone wants to sponsor me for matchdotcom, it is $20 a month.  Send me money! I promise to blog about everything, direct from the dating world, in excruciating detail, all for your entertainment value! But wait! There is more! I promise, that if I am on a really bad date, I will stand up and say, "I'm an actor, they're all actors, & you're on MTV's Disaster Date!" and RUN out. What could be more entertaining than that?