Sunday, December 13, 2020
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Fear and Loathing of Michigan Accents?
Here's another desperately single tale that will warm your heart for the Holiday season. Now beware, upon reading this, you may feel emotions such as contempt, disdain, and profanation. Then there are others that may find it humorous, farcical and down right entertaining. And this is why I must blog about it. The enlightenment of others about the absurdity of dating is my main objective. Informing those less fortunate (dating-wise) than myself, is my civil and humane duty. Without further ado, I give to you the story of The Canadian Door Mat....
My boredom tends to get the better of me at times. In between my misadventures in dating land, I find myself trolling the ol' dating websites. I don't know if I am truly looking for relationships or just looking to find a conversation with someone new. In this case, it was the latter. No relationship is needed in my life right now, so I stumble upon a well spoken Canadian who seems generally interesting. No sexual innuendos what-so-ever, which was kind of nice seeing that I have no interest in that as of late. (Another story for another time.)
A few hours later, we seem to have many different subjects and ideas that we both have in common. It was refreshing. We exchange numbers and agree to text one another the following day. Which we did. It continued to be interesting and intriguing, yet still no "sexting", which was great! There wasn't any of that awkward waiting time in between texts, and wondering what the other was thinking and when they did respond you are stuck wondering if that was "really" what they were thinking and are just trying to spare the others' feelings. It's a cruel and unusual form of punishment, and I think that our government should incorporate it in their interrogation routine. Take that Osama!!!
Anywho... Both of us seemed to be going through some personal drama and it was nice to talk to someone on the sidelines who didn't have too much invested in the other side of the mess. I helped him with his issues and he helped me with mine. It was extremely nice and warm-hearted. He would try to throw some proverbial internet dating comments in, such as "I'm so glad I found you online.", "Why are you still single?", "I feel that you and I have such a wonderful connection." and "I can't wait till I finally get to meet you in person.". This is where I slapped myself and woke up. I had no intention of meeting this guy face to face. I did not want to make this into something when it certainly was nothing to begin with, nor did I want him to think that this was anything but a texting friendship.
With that realization, I would slip some random and hopefully subliminal texts to him using the words "friendship", "sweet guy", and "buddy". I used them over and over again, hoping he would get the message (HA! No pun intended!). It seemed to be working, because his responses weren't involving the subtext "I love you and I want to marry you.".
About 2 weeks of friendly texting, I receive an ungodly amount of texts too early in the morning for me. And for those of you who know me, I am late to bed and late to rise. So, I pry my eyes open to view approximately 10 texts in a row, stating that he feels horrible on how he has lied to me from the beginning. He made up a fake account on the website, a fake email address and his name was fake. (It was a stupid name to make up anyway.)
Now, because this was NOT any kind of normal relationship, in fact not even a relationship, just barely a friendship. I told him that it really didn't matter. It was just texting and nothing more. He was adamant on apologizing, and it didn't matter how much I told him I didn't care, he wanted me to call him so he could apologize correctly. I debated calling him for a few days. I felt that if I called him then he would think that "this" could have some kind of meaning behind it, which it didn't. He bugged me for a few more days after, finally I gave in.
We talked for an hour. Nothing really special about the conversation, other than continuing our previous conversations via text. It was just a nice chat with an internet buddy. So I thought...
I get another random text at 7am in the GD morning.
And I quote... "I lost the excited feeling and decided not to waste anymore time. You were much more interesting than the average girl... Super Sexy... I just don't like the Michigan accent. I know we could of continued as friends, but it's hard to shift gears from wanting to fuck you to being your friend. If you ever come across the river and want to hook up there's a possibility I might be into it... just don't speak!"
Yeah... I guess it would be hard to shift gears from that, huh? Not only did he not get my "subliminal" messaging, but hates the sound of my voice. Don't ya just hate when that happens?
So, ladies, here's the moral of the story, when talking to a guy for the first time, whether you meet him online or in the bar or in the grocery store and you feel like it's not gonna go anywhere else... Use your best "Fargo" voice, cuz that's apparently what I sound like, A? This is just one of the many excuses I have encountered in my dating life and as fake as it may sound, it's real! As I mentioned earlier, it is my job to keep you guys and gals updated on the dating debacles of a single woman, that happens to have a bad Michigan accent.
And... You're welcome!!!!
Amie a.k.a The Caped First Dater
My boredom tends to get the better of me at times. In between my misadventures in dating land, I find myself trolling the ol' dating websites. I don't know if I am truly looking for relationships or just looking to find a conversation with someone new. In this case, it was the latter. No relationship is needed in my life right now, so I stumble upon a well spoken Canadian who seems generally interesting. No sexual innuendos what-so-ever, which was kind of nice seeing that I have no interest in that as of late. (Another story for another time.)
A few hours later, we seem to have many different subjects and ideas that we both have in common. It was refreshing. We exchange numbers and agree to text one another the following day. Which we did. It continued to be interesting and intriguing, yet still no "sexting", which was great! There wasn't any of that awkward waiting time in between texts, and wondering what the other was thinking and when they did respond you are stuck wondering if that was "really" what they were thinking and are just trying to spare the others' feelings. It's a cruel and unusual form of punishment, and I think that our government should incorporate it in their interrogation routine. Take that Osama!!!
Anywho... Both of us seemed to be going through some personal drama and it was nice to talk to someone on the sidelines who didn't have too much invested in the other side of the mess. I helped him with his issues and he helped me with mine. It was extremely nice and warm-hearted. He would try to throw some proverbial internet dating comments in, such as "I'm so glad I found you online.", "Why are you still single?", "I feel that you and I have such a wonderful connection." and "I can't wait till I finally get to meet you in person.". This is where I slapped myself and woke up. I had no intention of meeting this guy face to face. I did not want to make this into something when it certainly was nothing to begin with, nor did I want him to think that this was anything but a texting friendship.
With that realization, I would slip some random and hopefully subliminal texts to him using the words "friendship", "sweet guy", and "buddy". I used them over and over again, hoping he would get the message (HA! No pun intended!). It seemed to be working, because his responses weren't involving the subtext "I love you and I want to marry you.".
About 2 weeks of friendly texting, I receive an ungodly amount of texts too early in the morning for me. And for those of you who know me, I am late to bed and late to rise. So, I pry my eyes open to view approximately 10 texts in a row, stating that he feels horrible on how he has lied to me from the beginning. He made up a fake account on the website, a fake email address and his name was fake. (It was a stupid name to make up anyway.)
Now, because this was NOT any kind of normal relationship, in fact not even a relationship, just barely a friendship. I told him that it really didn't matter. It was just texting and nothing more. He was adamant on apologizing, and it didn't matter how much I told him I didn't care, he wanted me to call him so he could apologize correctly. I debated calling him for a few days. I felt that if I called him then he would think that "this" could have some kind of meaning behind it, which it didn't. He bugged me for a few more days after, finally I gave in.
We talked for an hour. Nothing really special about the conversation, other than continuing our previous conversations via text. It was just a nice chat with an internet buddy. So I thought...
I get another random text at 7am in the GD morning.
And I quote... "I lost the excited feeling and decided not to waste anymore time. You were much more interesting than the average girl... Super Sexy... I just don't like the Michigan accent. I know we could of continued as friends, but it's hard to shift gears from wanting to fuck you to being your friend. If you ever come across the river and want to hook up there's a possibility I might be into it... just don't speak!"
Yeah... I guess it would be hard to shift gears from that, huh? Not only did he not get my "subliminal" messaging, but hates the sound of my voice. Don't ya just hate when that happens?
So, ladies, here's the moral of the story, when talking to a guy for the first time, whether you meet him online or in the bar or in the grocery store and you feel like it's not gonna go anywhere else... Use your best "Fargo" voice, cuz that's apparently what I sound like, A? This is just one of the many excuses I have encountered in my dating life and as fake as it may sound, it's real! As I mentioned earlier, it is my job to keep you guys and gals updated on the dating debacles of a single woman, that happens to have a bad Michigan accent.
And... You're welcome!!!!
Amie a.k.a The Caped First Dater
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Something to be Thankful For
Another posting from the Caped First Dater series. Funny and true!
Well boys and girls... It's that time again to visit the world of everyone's favorite Caped Dater. Last we left her, she victoriously thwarted yet another loser and forever he will stay away from any woman wanting a "normal" relationship. Innocent women everywhere are rejoicing at The Caped First Dater's efforts.
In a few short weeks Amie is reminded of the 3rd year anniversary of a night spent with her long time crush. She ran into him in a local bar after not seeing him for many years. The moment they saw each other, there were fireworks. Everyone else in the bar simply vanished, they were completely alone to be reunited at long last. Flashes of laughter and joy are a frequent reminder of that night. She reminisces when he told her that he always wanted to be with her but never wanted to damage their friendship. And when he told her that he didn't want to loose her again, she was forever elated. Amie knew that this was it. He was the one. She could call off the man hunt for her "Mr. Perfect". The next day, she waited for his call that he had promised her. No call. Days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months. Nothing. No sign that he even existed. She even started to think that her mind was playing tricks on her. Amie knew better. She knew that he was just another douche bag waiting to use her and toss her aside waiting for his next victim. Amie chalked it up and continued her life as if nothing happened.
3 long years later, Amie and a few close friends decide to go for a Girls-Night-Out. The drinks were flowing and the dancing was exhausting. As the girls were getting ready to leave in order to find another scene to paint, in walks the alleged "Mr. Not-So-Perfect". At first, Amie thought it was a mirage. As her friend shook her to gain her attention, Amie knew it was the real thing. Amie knew that there was no time for her emotions to get in the way. He had to be stopped before another unknowing and virtuous girl was hurt by this monster. Something had to be done. In a New York minute, she zipped toward the ladies room and exited as THE CAPED FIRST DATER!
With a turquoise, pink and lavender blur, our heroine suddenly appears standing next to Mr. Not-So-Perfect. Her cunning smile and radiant hair in place, she makes a move. She nods to the bartender requesting drinks, and in an instant two beers materialize in front them. Obviously impressed, Mr. Not-So-Perfect strikes up a conversation. He talks about the weather, the downfall of today's economy, his latest business endeavor and anything remotely boring and uninteresting. All the while she smiles and gives him her undivided attention. As the bartender announces last call, he whispers in her ear "Let's get out of here and do something bad." She flashes him a smile and follows him outside. He then leads her to a dark alleyway and he proceeds to grope her. She pushes him back and with her fists of concrete she punches him square in the nose. For what seemed like hours, he was bent over covering his nose to prevent any more blood loss. When he rose up, he screamed "What the hell was that?!?" Trying to hold her emotions close, she exclaimed "That's for breaking her heart not only once but twice. You will never hurt her again!" Like a lightning bolt, she flew off wiping the tears from her face.
Mr. Not-So-Perfect is the sole reason The Caped First Dater came into existence. She swoops in day in and day out, saving women from making dire mistakes. Women need someone to teach men like this lessons in how to treat them. They are not something you can discard like the daily newspaper. The Caped Dater is a marvel among women. Without her, women would never rise from the pain men put them through. This is the reason she must go on fighting crimes done against women.
Well boys and girls... It's that time again to visit the world of everyone's favorite Caped Dater. Last we left her, she victoriously thwarted yet another loser and forever he will stay away from any woman wanting a "normal" relationship. Innocent women everywhere are rejoicing at The Caped First Dater's efforts.
In a few short weeks Amie is reminded of the 3rd year anniversary of a night spent with her long time crush. She ran into him in a local bar after not seeing him for many years. The moment they saw each other, there were fireworks. Everyone else in the bar simply vanished, they were completely alone to be reunited at long last. Flashes of laughter and joy are a frequent reminder of that night. She reminisces when he told her that he always wanted to be with her but never wanted to damage their friendship. And when he told her that he didn't want to loose her again, she was forever elated. Amie knew that this was it. He was the one. She could call off the man hunt for her "Mr. Perfect". The next day, she waited for his call that he had promised her. No call. Days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months. Nothing. No sign that he even existed. She even started to think that her mind was playing tricks on her. Amie knew better. She knew that he was just another douche bag waiting to use her and toss her aside waiting for his next victim. Amie chalked it up and continued her life as if nothing happened.
3 long years later, Amie and a few close friends decide to go for a Girls-Night-Out. The drinks were flowing and the dancing was exhausting. As the girls were getting ready to leave in order to find another scene to paint, in walks the alleged "Mr. Not-So-Perfect". At first, Amie thought it was a mirage. As her friend shook her to gain her attention, Amie knew it was the real thing. Amie knew that there was no time for her emotions to get in the way. He had to be stopped before another unknowing and virtuous girl was hurt by this monster. Something had to be done. In a New York minute, she zipped toward the ladies room and exited as THE CAPED FIRST DATER!
With a turquoise, pink and lavender blur, our heroine suddenly appears standing next to Mr. Not-So-Perfect. Her cunning smile and radiant hair in place, she makes a move. She nods to the bartender requesting drinks, and in an instant two beers materialize in front them. Obviously impressed, Mr. Not-So-Perfect strikes up a conversation. He talks about the weather, the downfall of today's economy, his latest business endeavor and anything remotely boring and uninteresting. All the while she smiles and gives him her undivided attention. As the bartender announces last call, he whispers in her ear "Let's get out of here and do something bad." She flashes him a smile and follows him outside. He then leads her to a dark alleyway and he proceeds to grope her. She pushes him back and with her fists of concrete she punches him square in the nose. For what seemed like hours, he was bent over covering his nose to prevent any more blood loss. When he rose up, he screamed "What the hell was that?!?" Trying to hold her emotions close, she exclaimed "That's for breaking her heart not only once but twice. You will never hurt her again!" Like a lightning bolt, she flew off wiping the tears from her face.
Mr. Not-So-Perfect is the sole reason The Caped First Dater came into existence. She swoops in day in and day out, saving women from making dire mistakes. Women need someone to teach men like this lessons in how to treat them. They are not something you can discard like the daily newspaper. The Caped Dater is a marvel among women. Without her, women would never rise from the pain men put them through. This is the reason she must go on fighting crimes done against women.
It's a Bird, It's a Plane, It's....
The next few blogs are postings I forgot I had on my "Lame-space" page. I started this series a few years ago but kind of lost steam after a few postings. It was during my "comic book" phase, so bear with me! Let me know if I should continue with it....
By day, Amie Cash is just a normal, fun-loving gal. She helps her family battle the everyday struggles. When her friends think about doing anything insane or harebrained, she works as a negotiator and talks them out of their plans. You may even see her while she is out on the town assisting little old ladies across the street, as well as giving out loose change to your local street bums. As she shuttles to her thankless job where she checks fine business men and women into the hotel, she always seems happy and willing to make your day the best. When Amie's long and droning shift comes to an end, she hears a small voice crying for help. With immediate urgency, Amie flashes to the ladies room. In one amazing zip, she exits as "The Caped First Dater"!!! Almost falling over, the women in the restroom see a vivid flash of pink, turquoise and lavender (with a hint of chocolate brown), and they are immediately relieved that help is on the way! As our Caped friend travels at the speed of light, she reaches her destination. Still hearing the victims' plea, she bursts through the door and exclaims "Have no fear, your Caped First Dater is here!!!" With a sigh of relief, the lonely, desperate (and slightly retarded) man is overcome with joy! "Caped First Dater, I am SO excited you are here! I have been waiting forever for you to walk into my life. You are the epitome of beauty! Will you marry me???" The lovely yet distraught superhero ignores the poor mans' request and continues on her quest of yet another morbid and unearthly date. She listens to the mans' tale of a lonely and sad life, waiting for a woman such a herself to grace him with her presence. The Caped First Dater is all but polite when he reaches in his pocket and pulls out $1.75 for the bar tab. She waives her hand at his meager change and tells him "No, it is my pleasure to pay for this. After all, I am the CAPED FIRST DATER!" Simply overwhelmed, the sad excuse of a man leans in to kiss our superhero. The First Dater politely turns her cheek and he plants a very wet and inappropriate kiss on her face. As they walk out of the tavern together, he attempts to pull her aside so he can use inappropriate behavior. In one swift movement, she sends the loser plummeting to the concrete. With one foot firmly planted on his chest and both her hands on her hips, she proclaims "As the Caped First Dater, I DO NOT put out on the first date!!! You sir, need to be punished!!!" For one brief moment, he flashes her an evil smile thinking that he will be punished in a very good way. She grasps him firmly by his arm and they both rocket into the dark sky. He starts wailing out in agony, for the forceful tug on his arm had dislocated his shoulder, he then blacks out from the pain. A short while later, the horny and disturbed man wakes up finding himself lying on the floor of a small, dirty bar. He is surrounded by many biker men looking at him with desire. He stands up and looks at himself in the mirror on the wall, he is now wearing a short red pleather skirt and a sequined tub top with red platform heels. As the door closes behind our hero, she hears a high-pitch, feminine cry for help. Very pleased with herself, the Caped First Dater flys off into the sunrise, wondering what the next night of dating will bring her....
What will The Caped First Dater encounter next week? S & M Man? Super Tranny? Or is it going to be the infamous Mr. Curious???
Stay tuned for the Adventures of
THE CAPED FIRST DATER!!!!
By day, Amie Cash is just a normal, fun-loving gal. She helps her family battle the everyday struggles. When her friends think about doing anything insane or harebrained, she works as a negotiator and talks them out of their plans. You may even see her while she is out on the town assisting little old ladies across the street, as well as giving out loose change to your local street bums. As she shuttles to her thankless job where she checks fine business men and women into the hotel, she always seems happy and willing to make your day the best. When Amie's long and droning shift comes to an end, she hears a small voice crying for help. With immediate urgency, Amie flashes to the ladies room. In one amazing zip, she exits as "The Caped First Dater"!!! Almost falling over, the women in the restroom see a vivid flash of pink, turquoise and lavender (with a hint of chocolate brown), and they are immediately relieved that help is on the way! As our Caped friend travels at the speed of light, she reaches her destination. Still hearing the victims' plea, she bursts through the door and exclaims "Have no fear, your Caped First Dater is here!!!" With a sigh of relief, the lonely, desperate (and slightly retarded) man is overcome with joy! "Caped First Dater, I am SO excited you are here! I have been waiting forever for you to walk into my life. You are the epitome of beauty! Will you marry me???" The lovely yet distraught superhero ignores the poor mans' request and continues on her quest of yet another morbid and unearthly date. She listens to the mans' tale of a lonely and sad life, waiting for a woman such a herself to grace him with her presence. The Caped First Dater is all but polite when he reaches in his pocket and pulls out $1.75 for the bar tab. She waives her hand at his meager change and tells him "No, it is my pleasure to pay for this. After all, I am the CAPED FIRST DATER!" Simply overwhelmed, the sad excuse of a man leans in to kiss our superhero. The First Dater politely turns her cheek and he plants a very wet and inappropriate kiss on her face. As they walk out of the tavern together, he attempts to pull her aside so he can use inappropriate behavior. In one swift movement, she sends the loser plummeting to the concrete. With one foot firmly planted on his chest and both her hands on her hips, she proclaims "As the Caped First Dater, I DO NOT put out on the first date!!! You sir, need to be punished!!!" For one brief moment, he flashes her an evil smile thinking that he will be punished in a very good way. She grasps him firmly by his arm and they both rocket into the dark sky. He starts wailing out in agony, for the forceful tug on his arm had dislocated his shoulder, he then blacks out from the pain. A short while later, the horny and disturbed man wakes up finding himself lying on the floor of a small, dirty bar. He is surrounded by many biker men looking at him with desire. He stands up and looks at himself in the mirror on the wall, he is now wearing a short red pleather skirt and a sequined tub top with red platform heels. As the door closes behind our hero, she hears a high-pitch, feminine cry for help. Very pleased with herself, the Caped First Dater flys off into the sunrise, wondering what the next night of dating will bring her....
What will The Caped First Dater encounter next week? S & M Man? Super Tranny? Or is it going to be the infamous Mr. Curious???
Stay tuned for the Adventures of
THE CAPED FIRST DATER!!!!
Chasing a Dream
Well, It's quite some time since my last post... My apologies to you, but it's been quite a year! Sadly I haven't been on many dates lately. Too much on my mind, really. This next story is something that I've been feeling for a while and didn't know how to express until now. It's more on a serious note than my previous postings, so bear with me on the mood change and I will get back to the comedies of my dating life.
It's been a long journey, getting over a love; this is one of the steps for me to take in order to heal. Once I wrote it, I realized that it wasn't about just one man, it was about every relationship, every friendship, every challenge and every dream that I have had and haven't been able to hold onto. I just hope that it can help others as it has helped me. Enjoy!
It seems that each passing day is the same, if not worse, as the last; no end in sight. I was weary of smiling and faking the happiness I've grown so accustomed to portray. With every courteous but shallow, “How are you?”, my insides decayed with each. I was good at it by now. In fact, I was so good that no one even thought twice when I walked in with puffy eyes and a runny nose from my incessant sobbing every time I stepped through the door. “How are you?” Such an insensitive and obtuse question to ask someone you've just met. Beyond the common courtesies instilled in us as children, when it is asked, the questioner hardly wants an answer other than “Fine. And how are you?” I muster through, and despite the urge to wildly rant on of my woes, I give them the satisfactory “Fine, and you?” Day in and day out, I address everyone as if the whole world is going my way and I wish that my happiness can infect their lives as much as it has mine. No one needs to know the harsh truth of my despair. What good will it do, anyhow? So my life goes.
As I am in another meaningless conversation with a wayward traveler who is seemingly interested in our dialogue, out of the corner of my eye, I see him. Distraction sets in and nothing can bring my focus back. I excuse myself and begin walking in the direction of this apparition. He is walking so fast I can barely keep up. My speed seems faster than light, yet his is much faster than that. I call out his name, but not even a flinch from him slows him down. His arm is now outstretched, grasping for the closest doorknob, and in a flash he's gone through the door. Like Alice, curiosity has settled at the bottom of my insides, I follow the White Rabbit.
My hand trembles as I place it on the knob, my heart is pounding in my throat and my feet are firmly planted where they stand. I can't move. The doubtful side of my brain is telling me it's not him, my heart is crying out that it is. I've heard of “walking contradictions”, but never knew it could actually happen, until now. Fear and Courage: Gladiators fighting against each other inside me, I am unable to control the trembling now coursing through my body. I turn the doorknob, but Fear has overthrown Courage and I can't seem to push the door open. I drop my arm in defeat, turn my back to the door and walk back the way I came. I hear the hush of the crowd in the Colosseum as Courage falls to his knees in agony, as the sword is plunged into his chest. His heart pierced as mine. Tears well in my eyes. The weight of despair is once again on my shoulders. Just then, my gladiator rises with vigor as the screeching sirens of the emergency exit are released. Courage urges me to follow my wounded heart, and my heart forces me to follow him, where ever he may lead me.
I slam though the door that once barricaded me, chasing the coattails of my love. He is a mere few yards in front of me, running, as if being chased by the authorities. Everything in my body seems to be communicating with ease. My feet are telling my legs to move faster. My arms are telling my waist to dodge any innocent bystanders. My heart is screaming to all appendages, “Please God. Don't slow down.” The scent of him invaded my nostrils which gave me that extra boost of speed I needed to catch up, and yet with every stride, he still seemed miles away. It mattered not. I must finish this through. I long for him and nothing or no one can stand in my way. Onward, I sprint.
Sweat now streaming down into my eyes, temporarily blinded, I stumble across a crack in the sidewalk. I stop to gather my long lost deep breaths, and wipe the sweat from my eyes. Adrenaline is racing through my veins. I want to keep moving, in fear that I may lose him once again, but as the sleeve of my shirt sops up the salty water from my face, I see him a few feet from me. He's just standing there. Watching. Waiting. Searching for my next move, any movement of mine. I am impossibly immobile, and all I can do is smile. The very same smile that hasn't seen the light of day in what seems like an eternity. Truth can be told without saying a single word with a smile. That's what I gave him. The only thing that my completely depleted body could give him. He took that smile and gave me one in return. My heart melts. Sweat turns into tears. Running down my cheeks, I still hold that smile for him. My feet move as if separate from my body. They slowly walk toward him, and with every step, another tear falls. Time has fallen still. Cars have stopped in their tracks. People are paused in action. City sounds are muted. Step by step, the progressive space between us grows smaller. Tears are still raining from my swollen eyes. I can't stop now. Just one more step and I will be in his arms again and the world will be right once more. Inches from my grasp and the world immediately moves at normal speed. My fingertips, outstretched toward his, and just as briefly as they touch, that's how quickly he bolts away from me.
The busy street of the city continues with its' life, and I am standing motionless, watching him run from me. My legs refuse to carry me. My body is spent. My heart is broken. My gladiator, once a victor, now a quiescent and lifeless pile of nothing. In an instant, I fall to my knees in sheer pain. As I watch him sprint away in the distant, he becomes increasingly small. Through my tears, I focus on him and all that he has given to me, all that he has just taken away from me. Sobbing uncontrollably, the small shadow of him has now disappeared, and all I have are the memories of us. Fear has conquered over me. This villainous miscreant has taken over every happy memory and joyous feeling I have left. No matter how fast I run, I will never catch him. If I look for him, he can never be found. It doesn't matter how many tears I shed, he will never dry them. I am running an endless track, and no matter how long I run it, I will do nothing but run with not as much as a drop of water to quench my thirst. This is now my brutal reality I must live.
I guess, in time, I may find him again. Walking aimlessly, searching for anything that will fill this void. Of course, I have my doubts. What we once shared is impossible to recreate and my dreams of finding it are long gone along with him. This inner battle has halted my desire for his love. Tears may fall from time to time, but with each tear fallen, the weakened and defeated gladiator grows stronger. When the time is right, and the opportunity presents itself, I will win, I will defeat this villain and all of Rome will chant my name in victory.
It's been a long journey, getting over a love; this is one of the steps for me to take in order to heal. Once I wrote it, I realized that it wasn't about just one man, it was about every relationship, every friendship, every challenge and every dream that I have had and haven't been able to hold onto. I just hope that it can help others as it has helped me. Enjoy!
It seems that each passing day is the same, if not worse, as the last; no end in sight. I was weary of smiling and faking the happiness I've grown so accustomed to portray. With every courteous but shallow, “How are you?”, my insides decayed with each. I was good at it by now. In fact, I was so good that no one even thought twice when I walked in with puffy eyes and a runny nose from my incessant sobbing every time I stepped through the door. “How are you?” Such an insensitive and obtuse question to ask someone you've just met. Beyond the common courtesies instilled in us as children, when it is asked, the questioner hardly wants an answer other than “Fine. And how are you?” I muster through, and despite the urge to wildly rant on of my woes, I give them the satisfactory “Fine, and you?” Day in and day out, I address everyone as if the whole world is going my way and I wish that my happiness can infect their lives as much as it has mine. No one needs to know the harsh truth of my despair. What good will it do, anyhow? So my life goes.
As I am in another meaningless conversation with a wayward traveler who is seemingly interested in our dialogue, out of the corner of my eye, I see him. Distraction sets in and nothing can bring my focus back. I excuse myself and begin walking in the direction of this apparition. He is walking so fast I can barely keep up. My speed seems faster than light, yet his is much faster than that. I call out his name, but not even a flinch from him slows him down. His arm is now outstretched, grasping for the closest doorknob, and in a flash he's gone through the door. Like Alice, curiosity has settled at the bottom of my insides, I follow the White Rabbit.
My hand trembles as I place it on the knob, my heart is pounding in my throat and my feet are firmly planted where they stand. I can't move. The doubtful side of my brain is telling me it's not him, my heart is crying out that it is. I've heard of “walking contradictions”, but never knew it could actually happen, until now. Fear and Courage: Gladiators fighting against each other inside me, I am unable to control the trembling now coursing through my body. I turn the doorknob, but Fear has overthrown Courage and I can't seem to push the door open. I drop my arm in defeat, turn my back to the door and walk back the way I came. I hear the hush of the crowd in the Colosseum as Courage falls to his knees in agony, as the sword is plunged into his chest. His heart pierced as mine. Tears well in my eyes. The weight of despair is once again on my shoulders. Just then, my gladiator rises with vigor as the screeching sirens of the emergency exit are released. Courage urges me to follow my wounded heart, and my heart forces me to follow him, where ever he may lead me.
I slam though the door that once barricaded me, chasing the coattails of my love. He is a mere few yards in front of me, running, as if being chased by the authorities. Everything in my body seems to be communicating with ease. My feet are telling my legs to move faster. My arms are telling my waist to dodge any innocent bystanders. My heart is screaming to all appendages, “Please God. Don't slow down.” The scent of him invaded my nostrils which gave me that extra boost of speed I needed to catch up, and yet with every stride, he still seemed miles away. It mattered not. I must finish this through. I long for him and nothing or no one can stand in my way. Onward, I sprint.
Sweat now streaming down into my eyes, temporarily blinded, I stumble across a crack in the sidewalk. I stop to gather my long lost deep breaths, and wipe the sweat from my eyes. Adrenaline is racing through my veins. I want to keep moving, in fear that I may lose him once again, but as the sleeve of my shirt sops up the salty water from my face, I see him a few feet from me. He's just standing there. Watching. Waiting. Searching for my next move, any movement of mine. I am impossibly immobile, and all I can do is smile. The very same smile that hasn't seen the light of day in what seems like an eternity. Truth can be told without saying a single word with a smile. That's what I gave him. The only thing that my completely depleted body could give him. He took that smile and gave me one in return. My heart melts. Sweat turns into tears. Running down my cheeks, I still hold that smile for him. My feet move as if separate from my body. They slowly walk toward him, and with every step, another tear falls. Time has fallen still. Cars have stopped in their tracks. People are paused in action. City sounds are muted. Step by step, the progressive space between us grows smaller. Tears are still raining from my swollen eyes. I can't stop now. Just one more step and I will be in his arms again and the world will be right once more. Inches from my grasp and the world immediately moves at normal speed. My fingertips, outstretched toward his, and just as briefly as they touch, that's how quickly he bolts away from me.
The busy street of the city continues with its' life, and I am standing motionless, watching him run from me. My legs refuse to carry me. My body is spent. My heart is broken. My gladiator, once a victor, now a quiescent and lifeless pile of nothing. In an instant, I fall to my knees in sheer pain. As I watch him sprint away in the distant, he becomes increasingly small. Through my tears, I focus on him and all that he has given to me, all that he has just taken away from me. Sobbing uncontrollably, the small shadow of him has now disappeared, and all I have are the memories of us. Fear has conquered over me. This villainous miscreant has taken over every happy memory and joyous feeling I have left. No matter how fast I run, I will never catch him. If I look for him, he can never be found. It doesn't matter how many tears I shed, he will never dry them. I am running an endless track, and no matter how long I run it, I will do nothing but run with not as much as a drop of water to quench my thirst. This is now my brutal reality I must live.
I guess, in time, I may find him again. Walking aimlessly, searching for anything that will fill this void. Of course, I have my doubts. What we once shared is impossible to recreate and my dreams of finding it are long gone along with him. This inner battle has halted my desire for his love. Tears may fall from time to time, but with each tear fallen, the weakened and defeated gladiator grows stronger. When the time is right, and the opportunity presents itself, I will win, I will defeat this villain and all of Rome will chant my name in victory.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Just Missed the Bus...
Warning: Serial dating may contain multiple hazards to your health. Such symptoms may include, but are not limited to, breaking of ones' nose, profuse sweating, vulgarity during visiting hours, discovery of the missing link, and ascertainment of “inappropriate” photographs by prepubescents.
Okay kids, I gonna take you back to the ghosts of dates past...
I met Jamie through a friend of a friend and we hit it off from the very moment we met. He was tall, dark and handsome and really into me. Before we left the party, he asked if I wanted to see him again, of course I said yes and gave him my number so we could set a time and place for our next encounter. When he called me the next day, I was shocked to say the least because of his impeccable timing. Usually guys can take up to 10 days to give you a call back, this was not the case this time. So we talked for a few hours a day for a few days till we finally felt a bit more confident in where our first date should be. Because I have never went to a casino in my life, he felt it appropriate to take me to one. I was ecstatic, my first time gambling and first date with a new guy. Unbeknownst to me at the time, it was going to be a lot of firsts on so many levels by the dates end....
Now here's when I knew I should have run the other way because this was not going to end well, but alas, I did not listen to my Jiminy Cricket and trotted forward. I spent some serious dough on casino approved attire, you know, low-cut silk top, gently snug dress capri pants, a plunging necklace to showcase the goods and an outstanding and slightly uncomfortable 3 1/2 inch pair of heels. I don't mean to toot my own horn, but Honk! Honk! I looked good, I felt good, and I was doing good. We met in a neutral location, and in he walked with a cutoff t-shirt which read “Mmmmmm Now that's tasty!”, a pair of too-tight-at-the-waist-too-short-on-the-legs-and-too-ugly-to-be-shown-in-public jean shorts and he took the next step and rocked a pair of Moses sandals. Looking very much like a reject from a bad 80's country video. I rolled my eyes as he tells me that he feels a bit under dressed. Together we leave for the casino. Our conversation seemed to go easily with the flow, and not at all stressed or strained, which made the 45 minute ride seem like only minutes.
We arrived at the casino ready to make out mark. He showed me the ropes, which tables were hot, which slots were the best, and which bars to hang out in. I was loving it! The atmosphere was incredible, the people were fun and the date was going surprisingly well. He asked if I wanted to go out for a bite to eat, and he knew just the spot. Now, I want you to remember, I spent 2 hours on my hair people. It was absolutely gorgeous! Beautifully placed soft curls donned my head like a halo. I even had women stop me to ask where I had my hair done. So as we stepped out on the city street, humidity filled my nostrils and infused my naturally curly hair. Not even 15 minutes out in the muggy atmosphere, I could feel my hair growing with every second we were out there. By the time we reach the restaurant (only a short 30 feet away), we walk in and I am sweating so severely that the beads of sweat is doing Kamikazes off my forehead. Trying not to draw any more unwanted attention, I excuse myself to the bathroom only to find that this particular bathroom does not have ANY paper towels to speak of! One stall, has approximately 10 sheets of 2-ply toilet paper and the other was entirely out. My only saving grace was the hand blow dryer on the wall, which conveniently for me did NOT have a turn-able handle. As I am finding the most uncomfortable position to dry my most sweaty body parts, an older woman walks in finding it most difficult to get into the stall without shooting me an I-can't-believe-she's-doing-that look. After ten minutes of attempting to dry myself off, I now find that the air that is blowing out of the dryer is and always was hot air, resulting in more sweating. Disgusted with myself and the damn blow dryer, I begin to sway back and forth as if an imaginary shark had gotten a hold of my legs in an imaginary shark tank.
It didn't quite to the trick but I was cool enough to venture back to our table, still embarrassed. He looked up and smiles, asking if everything was okay. I nodded, quietly sat down and grabbed the nearest menu to shove in front of my face, due to the fact that my face was more shiny than a newly polished bowling ball. I maintained a 15 minute conversation hiding behind my menu when he asked if I was ready to order. I nodded and told him what to order for me. Confused, he then asked if anything was wrong. Not wanting to let him in on the embarrassing plight, I informed him that I loved the detail the restaurant put into the menus and wanted to study them a little longer. He wasn't convinced. He reached across the table and snatched the menu away, instantaneously I threw my hands in front of my face. Mortified, I told him that I was a hot, sweaty mess, and didn't want him to see my face. He reached out to grab my hands away from my face and told me that there was absolutely nothing wrong with my face and to stop worrying about it. Slightly less embarrassed, I put my hands down and we shared more embarrassing stories to lessen my worry. After enjoying dinner and a few drinks, we were ready to continue our date.
After returning to the casino, we decided to hit the slot machines. As the most gentlemanly of gentlemen, he gave me money to gamble with. We jumped from slot machine to slot machine, enjoying each others company whether we were winning or losing, we had fun. Minutes turned into hours and the conversations seemed to flow effortlessly between us. Neither of us had won any money, but that didn't matter at all to us. As long as we were having fun, that's what ultimately mattered.
We both decided to journey out to see the night life of the city. Hand in hand, we walked the streets of Greektown. Still laughing, enjoying each others' company and figuring out which bar we should experience next, we saw Hard Rock Cafe in the distance. Unanimously, we agreed to visit it. Stopping at a crosswalk, which only had a blinking yellow light, we determined it safe to cross. Still hand in hand, we began to gingerly cross the street. At first glance, the bus that was traveling that same street was moving at a slow rate, so we continued at our normal pace. All of a sudden, we heard the gears of the bus slip into high gear and it started barreling straight towards us. Jamie then grabbed my arm and told me to haul ass because the bus was going to hit us in a matter of seconds. Now, might I remind those of you who have NOT ran in heels, that it is not an easy task to uphold, let alone running for your life in heels. Within a matter of nanoseconds, the heel of my shoe became stuck in the manhole in the middle of the street. Instead of my shoe falling off my foot like you would see in any movie known to man, my shoe stayed very much glued to my foot. It was my face that became glued to the pavement. Much like watching Joe Frasier falling down hard by a knock out from Ali, I fell that much harder. Immediately, he grabs my arm, yanks me upright and yells that the bus is going to hit us if we don't get the hell out of the way. Dazed, confused, and in extreme pain, I jump up and run alongside Jamie to safety. Our toes barely touch the curb when the bus whizzes by us at an alarming speed. I turn to my slightly disheveled date to see if he was alright, but to my surprise, the look on his face alarmed me as looked at me. His concern for me was much greater than I had expected. I thought he was just a very empathetic man, but I soon discovered that it wasn't his concern that was extreme, it was the injury to my face. In the bathroom of the Hard Rock Cafe, I literally saw two black eyes forming, my nose was now swollen to the size of Mr. Potato Heads' nose, and my lips had concrete burns all over them.
I knew that the embarrassment of my profuse sweating earlier would soon fade, but I never knew that it would fade so soon. Hobbling out of the bathroom, I couldn't help but grin ear to ear. Jamie couldn't even glance at me without having sincere concern behind his eyes. We sat in silence, contemplating whether or not our lives flashed before our eyes or if we were being Punk'd. After what seemed like hours, we then looked at each other, and began laughing uncontrollably and ordered a few drinks to shake off the pain. The bartender asked what was so funny, and when we told her she felt so sorry for me, that she bought our drinks for the remainder of the night. We left after our free drinks, and mutually decided it safe to leave for home. The ride home was filled with laughter of the nights events. As he dropped me off at my car, he asked if it was safe to ask me out for another date. I shrugged my shoulders, and told him nothing is ever safe when I'm around. We did have another date (which is gonna have to wait for another time to tell), and to this day I'm not quite sure if he asked me out a second time out of pity or if he was expecting another dinner and a show.
The moral of the story: Sometimes it is okay to miss the bus.
Okay kids, I gonna take you back to the ghosts of dates past...
I met Jamie through a friend of a friend and we hit it off from the very moment we met. He was tall, dark and handsome and really into me. Before we left the party, he asked if I wanted to see him again, of course I said yes and gave him my number so we could set a time and place for our next encounter. When he called me the next day, I was shocked to say the least because of his impeccable timing. Usually guys can take up to 10 days to give you a call back, this was not the case this time. So we talked for a few hours a day for a few days till we finally felt a bit more confident in where our first date should be. Because I have never went to a casino in my life, he felt it appropriate to take me to one. I was ecstatic, my first time gambling and first date with a new guy. Unbeknownst to me at the time, it was going to be a lot of firsts on so many levels by the dates end....
Now here's when I knew I should have run the other way because this was not going to end well, but alas, I did not listen to my Jiminy Cricket and trotted forward. I spent some serious dough on casino approved attire, you know, low-cut silk top, gently snug dress capri pants, a plunging necklace to showcase the goods and an outstanding and slightly uncomfortable 3 1/2 inch pair of heels. I don't mean to toot my own horn, but Honk! Honk! I looked good, I felt good, and I was doing good. We met in a neutral location, and in he walked with a cutoff t-shirt which read “Mmmmmm Now that's tasty!”, a pair of too-tight-at-the-waist-too-short-on-the-legs-and-too-ugly-to-be-shown-in-public jean shorts and he took the next step and rocked a pair of Moses sandals. Looking very much like a reject from a bad 80's country video. I rolled my eyes as he tells me that he feels a bit under dressed. Together we leave for the casino. Our conversation seemed to go easily with the flow, and not at all stressed or strained, which made the 45 minute ride seem like only minutes.
We arrived at the casino ready to make out mark. He showed me the ropes, which tables were hot, which slots were the best, and which bars to hang out in. I was loving it! The atmosphere was incredible, the people were fun and the date was going surprisingly well. He asked if I wanted to go out for a bite to eat, and he knew just the spot. Now, I want you to remember, I spent 2 hours on my hair people. It was absolutely gorgeous! Beautifully placed soft curls donned my head like a halo. I even had women stop me to ask where I had my hair done. So as we stepped out on the city street, humidity filled my nostrils and infused my naturally curly hair. Not even 15 minutes out in the muggy atmosphere, I could feel my hair growing with every second we were out there. By the time we reach the restaurant (only a short 30 feet away), we walk in and I am sweating so severely that the beads of sweat is doing Kamikazes off my forehead. Trying not to draw any more unwanted attention, I excuse myself to the bathroom only to find that this particular bathroom does not have ANY paper towels to speak of! One stall, has approximately 10 sheets of 2-ply toilet paper and the other was entirely out. My only saving grace was the hand blow dryer on the wall, which conveniently for me did NOT have a turn-able handle. As I am finding the most uncomfortable position to dry my most sweaty body parts, an older woman walks in finding it most difficult to get into the stall without shooting me an I-can't-believe-she's-doing-that look. After ten minutes of attempting to dry myself off, I now find that the air that is blowing out of the dryer is and always was hot air, resulting in more sweating. Disgusted with myself and the damn blow dryer, I begin to sway back and forth as if an imaginary shark had gotten a hold of my legs in an imaginary shark tank.
It didn't quite to the trick but I was cool enough to venture back to our table, still embarrassed. He looked up and smiles, asking if everything was okay. I nodded, quietly sat down and grabbed the nearest menu to shove in front of my face, due to the fact that my face was more shiny than a newly polished bowling ball. I maintained a 15 minute conversation hiding behind my menu when he asked if I was ready to order. I nodded and told him what to order for me. Confused, he then asked if anything was wrong. Not wanting to let him in on the embarrassing plight, I informed him that I loved the detail the restaurant put into the menus and wanted to study them a little longer. He wasn't convinced. He reached across the table and snatched the menu away, instantaneously I threw my hands in front of my face. Mortified, I told him that I was a hot, sweaty mess, and didn't want him to see my face. He reached out to grab my hands away from my face and told me that there was absolutely nothing wrong with my face and to stop worrying about it. Slightly less embarrassed, I put my hands down and we shared more embarrassing stories to lessen my worry. After enjoying dinner and a few drinks, we were ready to continue our date.
After returning to the casino, we decided to hit the slot machines. As the most gentlemanly of gentlemen, he gave me money to gamble with. We jumped from slot machine to slot machine, enjoying each others company whether we were winning or losing, we had fun. Minutes turned into hours and the conversations seemed to flow effortlessly between us. Neither of us had won any money, but that didn't matter at all to us. As long as we were having fun, that's what ultimately mattered.
We both decided to journey out to see the night life of the city. Hand in hand, we walked the streets of Greektown. Still laughing, enjoying each others' company and figuring out which bar we should experience next, we saw Hard Rock Cafe in the distance. Unanimously, we agreed to visit it. Stopping at a crosswalk, which only had a blinking yellow light, we determined it safe to cross. Still hand in hand, we began to gingerly cross the street. At first glance, the bus that was traveling that same street was moving at a slow rate, so we continued at our normal pace. All of a sudden, we heard the gears of the bus slip into high gear and it started barreling straight towards us. Jamie then grabbed my arm and told me to haul ass because the bus was going to hit us in a matter of seconds. Now, might I remind those of you who have NOT ran in heels, that it is not an easy task to uphold, let alone running for your life in heels. Within a matter of nanoseconds, the heel of my shoe became stuck in the manhole in the middle of the street. Instead of my shoe falling off my foot like you would see in any movie known to man, my shoe stayed very much glued to my foot. It was my face that became glued to the pavement. Much like watching Joe Frasier falling down hard by a knock out from Ali, I fell that much harder. Immediately, he grabs my arm, yanks me upright and yells that the bus is going to hit us if we don't get the hell out of the way. Dazed, confused, and in extreme pain, I jump up and run alongside Jamie to safety. Our toes barely touch the curb when the bus whizzes by us at an alarming speed. I turn to my slightly disheveled date to see if he was alright, but to my surprise, the look on his face alarmed me as looked at me. His concern for me was much greater than I had expected. I thought he was just a very empathetic man, but I soon discovered that it wasn't his concern that was extreme, it was the injury to my face. In the bathroom of the Hard Rock Cafe, I literally saw two black eyes forming, my nose was now swollen to the size of Mr. Potato Heads' nose, and my lips had concrete burns all over them.
I knew that the embarrassment of my profuse sweating earlier would soon fade, but I never knew that it would fade so soon. Hobbling out of the bathroom, I couldn't help but grin ear to ear. Jamie couldn't even glance at me without having sincere concern behind his eyes. We sat in silence, contemplating whether or not our lives flashed before our eyes or if we were being Punk'd. After what seemed like hours, we then looked at each other, and began laughing uncontrollably and ordered a few drinks to shake off the pain. The bartender asked what was so funny, and when we told her she felt so sorry for me, that she bought our drinks for the remainder of the night. We left after our free drinks, and mutually decided it safe to leave for home. The ride home was filled with laughter of the nights events. As he dropped me off at my car, he asked if it was safe to ask me out for another date. I shrugged my shoulders, and told him nothing is ever safe when I'm around. We did have another date (which is gonna have to wait for another time to tell), and to this day I'm not quite sure if he asked me out a second time out of pity or if he was expecting another dinner and a show.
The moral of the story: Sometimes it is okay to miss the bus.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Serial Dating for Dummies
Warning: Serial dating may contain multiple hazards to your health. Such symptoms may include, but are not limited to, breaking of ones' nose, profuse sweating, vulgarity during visiting hours, discovery of the missing link, and ascertainment of “inappropriate” photographs by prepubescents.
Now that I got the legalities out of the way, let me formally introduce myself. My name is Amie, and I am a serial dater. I'm not proud of it, but it's part of the program. You know, 12 steps? Admittance that we are powerless over our addictions. Yup. The first time I actually said it aloud, I cried from laughter. I mean, the thought of someone being addicted to dating? It's silly, right? Wrong! Think about all the emotions, elations and steps one usually goes through on each and every single date. I know, I know, more steps...
a. You begin to chat it up with some random guy in the local grocery store (or where ever you may find guys to your liking).
b. Exchanging of the numbers take place, both leaving giddy, gay and stupid.
c. Wait for the calling-grace-period to expire, even though neither person waits for the same amount of time. Men typically wait longer unless the woman is really drop-dead gorgeous.
d. Talking to each other to for hours on end until both parties agree on a time, date and place for the “official” date.
e. The day finally arrives, and each member spends hours pumping themselves up in front of the mirror or with friends, giving themselves a boost of self-confidence to make it through till the end of the date.
f. They meet, enjoy some drinks, share laughs and exchange a few innuendos until they choose one of three options.
1. Decide on meeting on another occasion to further their potentially budding relationship.
2. Mutually part ways due to the lack of interest on both sides.
3. Choose to have an intimate encounter of the third kind.
Once you have this down to an art, it's real easy to make a habit out of it, hence, the ADDICTION! However, once you have reached the point of serial dating addict, the glamor and appeal comes to an abrupt halt for your friends, family and loved ones. You don't know how many times I've heard “Amie, why haven't you found someone?”, “How do you go out on all these dates and NEVER find a real nice guy and settle down with?”, or my all time favorite “You know that if you don't find that someone by the time you are 30, that it might not happen at all, right?”. Once the questions start flying off the handle like this, it's really hard to hide the fact that you actually enjoy serial dating, so in order to cover it up, you start a random yet doomed to fail relationship just to make everyone happy and to stop being suspicious of your addiction. In conclusion, I haven't made it past the first step. Maybe I will on my next date... Stay tuned!
Amie
Now that I got the legalities out of the way, let me formally introduce myself. My name is Amie, and I am a serial dater. I'm not proud of it, but it's part of the program. You know, 12 steps? Admittance that we are powerless over our addictions. Yup. The first time I actually said it aloud, I cried from laughter. I mean, the thought of someone being addicted to dating? It's silly, right? Wrong! Think about all the emotions, elations and steps one usually goes through on each and every single date. I know, I know, more steps...
a. You begin to chat it up with some random guy in the local grocery store (or where ever you may find guys to your liking).
b. Exchanging of the numbers take place, both leaving giddy, gay and stupid.
c. Wait for the calling-grace-period to expire, even though neither person waits for the same amount of time. Men typically wait longer unless the woman is really drop-dead gorgeous.
d. Talking to each other to for hours on end until both parties agree on a time, date and place for the “official” date.
e. The day finally arrives, and each member spends hours pumping themselves up in front of the mirror or with friends, giving themselves a boost of self-confidence to make it through till the end of the date.
f. They meet, enjoy some drinks, share laughs and exchange a few innuendos until they choose one of three options.
1. Decide on meeting on another occasion to further their potentially budding relationship.
2. Mutually part ways due to the lack of interest on both sides.
3. Choose to have an intimate encounter of the third kind.
Once you have this down to an art, it's real easy to make a habit out of it, hence, the ADDICTION! However, once you have reached the point of serial dating addict, the glamor and appeal comes to an abrupt halt for your friends, family and loved ones. You don't know how many times I've heard “Amie, why haven't you found someone?”, “How do you go out on all these dates and NEVER find a real nice guy and settle down with?”, or my all time favorite “You know that if you don't find that someone by the time you are 30, that it might not happen at all, right?”. Once the questions start flying off the handle like this, it's really hard to hide the fact that you actually enjoy serial dating, so in order to cover it up, you start a random yet doomed to fail relationship just to make everyone happy and to stop being suspicious of your addiction. In conclusion, I haven't made it past the first step. Maybe I will on my next date... Stay tuned!
Amie
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