Category Archives: Kate

Lions, and Tigers, and Break-Ups! Oh, My!

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Did I mention I’ve been dating someone for a couple of months?  It hasn’t been anything super serious and I wouldn’t even go so far as to call us boyfriend and girlfriend, but it’s definitely been something.  However.

You know that first spark?  The one where they’re interesting and you have so much fun and you want to see them and blah, blah, blah?  Well whatever flame had been burning has been slowly flickering out and I haven’t known what to make of it.  This is always the case.  Something isn’t quite right so it stresses me out, then I retreat unto myself, I don’t want to hang out with the other person, I don’t act in an affectionate way (tho, to be honest, PDA-friendly I am not), and I go into excuse mode.  Well maybe it’s because I’m stressed at work…  Or maybe it’s because I’m just bad at dating…  Or maybe it really is us but it’s because we only go out to eat and don’t do other things so we don’t give ourselves the right opportunity… Or whatever.

Kate the Cowardly Lion

It all amounts to this: I am the Cowardly Lion of break-ups.

Rather than owning up to the fact that I’m just not into him, I hide and I make my excuses and feel sorry for myself and ultimately end up sabotaging things to the point where we’re miserable almost 100% of the time.  Cowardly Kate, right there.  The cruddiest part of it?  I date really fantastic guys.  I know, don’t hate me.  But I do. With the exception of one guy, my boyfriends have been really great people.  They’ve treated me well, they’ve been thoughtful, and when I was suddenly pulling away, coming up with my excuses, they were there trying to be understanding about it.  Cue massive guilt.

But I do think that’s part of it.  I’ve never wanted to own up to what’s really going on because I dread that conversation and the potential to hurt someone who is so kind-hearted.  When they’ve been so good to you, how do you tell them they’re just not right for you?  Yah, yah, you just tell them.  So you say.  It was never easy and so I never did it.

Until yesterday.  Call it maturity, but I finally realized how unfair it was to the guy and to me to go on in this state.  The conversation weighed on me all weekend (longer than that, if I’m honest) and I finally brought up my concerns, fully expecting it to The Break-Up Moment.  And yah know, a funny thing happened.  Not only was it not as bad as I imagined, but he reacted in a way that I hadn’t anticipated.  He said he really liked me and wished I’d given him feedback earlier so we could work on the issues which he viewed as easily fixable.  Huh.  I won’t go into the gory details.  In fact, I don’t remember the gory details.  (Really, who does?  Do you?  Because my own explanation of The State of Things became so convoluted that I could have talked about eating SpaghettiOs at the top of the Eiffel Tower, for all I know)  Suffice it to say, we are “taking a break.”  Yes, we cringed too.  But it’s not a bad plan.  We’re giving ourselves two weeks and then we’ll see.

Spinster friends, in a matter of hours “taking a break” changed my entire outlook.  Unsurprisingly, the weight has been lifted off my shoulders and I look forward to our next outing.  I know, don’t you just want to reach through the computer screen, shake me, and go, “SEE?!?!?!  When you talk to someone about your feelings, good things can happen.”

Right.  Yah.  For all my ranting about dating and such, I know I’m not even close to being perfect on that front.  My cowardly and non-confrontational way of addressing relationship issues is right there at the top of Things Kate Must Address if She Wants to Find Her Mr. Darcy.  So I can’t give much advice on this, but if you’re waffling about your man or lady friend dilemma and whether to say something, make like Nike and JUST DO IT.

-Kate

Your Status Update Not Welcome

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The other day, with the dreaded Facebook timeline looming on the horizon, I decided to be proactive and clean up my feed. I spent hours looking at my profile and past posts, deleting horrible things left and right.  Remember, I’m of the generation that pretty much started Facebook back in college.  I think we were one of the first universities who got to use it.  Yep, for those of you who may not know, Facebook used to be exclusive.  Anywho.  Horrible things.  Right.  So the clean-up also made me realize how times have changed.  Back in the day, we didn’t even know of the concept of a status update.  Now, you can count on me to give you the mundane updates of my weekend activities.  However, with all this change we never did get that dislike button.  And more than a dislike button (because that would just feel mean) I’d like to have a block button.

If I had block button, I’d erase from my feed:

Anything relating to babies.

This includes baby showers, baby blog updates, bump pictures, professional maternity pictures, status updates about food cravings, nursery progress pictures, rants about nursing, complaints about lack of sleep, gender announcements, and ultrasound pictures.  Some of us don’t like babies.  We don’t want babies.  We don’t want to have to talk about babies.  We don’t want to hold your babies.  Unfortunately, I’m of that age where it seems like this is the only thing other people care about and I’m subjected to updates on a daily basis.  Just shoot me now.  And for the love of God, why must people post pictures of the actual pregnancy test?  I don’t need to see the stick you peed on.  When you announce to Facebook that you’re pregnant? Yah, I’ll believe you.

Bible Verses

I don’t really get this one.  What is the reasoning behind peppering your feed with biblical messages?  Are you trying to advertise that you went to church? That you’re a better Christian than your friends?  I’m not sure about God, generally, but I don’t think she really gives a crap about your Facebook status.  God would probably rather you be out doing some actual act of good rather than writing about it.  When one lives in the bible belt it also means one gets bombarded with Christian messages just about every day.  Just for once, I’d like to open my Facebook feed and read in secular peace.

Mushy sentiments about having the best boyfriend/husband/wife/girlfriend EVER!

There are 7 billion people on this planet.  You can’t honestly believe the rest of us agree your husband is the best.  I’ll bet he picks his nose when you’re not looking.  Or maybe he’ll wash a red sock with your whites.  Plus, when being the best has anything to do with cooking dinner that just tells me you have low standards.

Any vacation picture without a person in it.

Well, alright, if it’s a picture of something humorous I’ll cut you some slack.  But let’s get real folks, the only reason I look at your vacation photos is so I can see if you wore a fanny pack or black socks with sandals.  If I’m not digging my toes into the sand, I don’t need to see the picture of your view while you were doing it.  You’re no Ansel Adams.  If I want to do a bit of armchair travel I’ll pick up a good book or visit a blog wherein they know how to use something other than an iPhone to snap pictures.

Please feel free to add to the list of blocked subject matter. It’s very freeing to finally get this out because you know I couldn’t post this on Facebook…

- Kate

Manfriend Musings

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Hello spinster friends!  I’m a tad bit late with a post this week which is due to some Exciting and completely exhausting Happenings in the Land of Hepburn.  You might not know this, but this little Kate is an introvert so a wild week of unexpected travel, a flat tire, and not a single night spent vegging on my sofa with a good romance and a pot of Earl Grey… well, let’s just say it’s Saturday morning, I’m still in my jammies, and I intend to stay that way.

I’m not a whiner and complainer, that’s a lie, don’t listen to me, but in these particularly trying types of weeks I’m reminded of those little things that a manfriend might bring to the situation.  Sometimes, I miss them.  I give you my short list:

The Arm/Back/You-Name-It Scratch.

Spinster friends, you know what I’m talking about!  Nothing is more lovely than a night spent in, forcing your beloved to watch HGTV’s Design Time Saturday Night, and getting a good arm scratch.  One of those wooden back scratchers just will not do.  And nevermind if most men have nubs for nails.  It’s soothing either way.  Plus, I’ve perfected the technique so the future Mr. Hepburn need not put out more effort than necessary.  It’s called the Hot Dog.  Step 1: Place arm directly in front of partner.  Step 2: Manfriend starts scratching arm in a horizontal motion.  Step 3:  Rotate your arm like a hot dog at a hot dog stand and behold! total arm scratch satisfaction.

The Flat Tire Savior.

I know how to change a flat.  In fact, it was one of the first things I did in driving school.  (Aside: Did you know that in Texas we didn’t have to take behind-the-wheel tests???  We required only 7 hours of actual driving time.  Yah, I know.  So, if you’re ever in this state, forgive us on the road.  We know not what we do.  Well, I mean, I do but I can’t say the others have a clue.)  So when I get a flat tire, I just want to have someone to call.  Someone who would come and hang out with me while I remedy the situation.  Or if not that, and if I was fortunate to have an awesome company that sends someone to fill my tire with air, someone who would at least lend me their car so I’m not scrambling to figure out how to get to Very Important Places the next day.  That’s a particular spinster challenge, I feel – the lack of a second car option is the pits!

Breakfast in Bed

Alright, alright, nobody has ever made me breakfast in bed.  But as I’m sitting here in my jammies it strikes me as something that would be really nice.  I’d like a stack of four pancakes.  No, make that five, just in case.  With a little pat of butter and two bitty twin pots of crème anglaise, and raspberry jelly.  A cup of Early Grey with a tiny spoon that has a dob of honey would also be nice.  And a big glass of 1% milk.  Oh, and sausage links!  I love sausage links.  And if Mr. Hepburn would be so kind, that romance I left on the couch the other night.  He romanced me enough last night, I’ll give him a break this morning.

What am I missing?  What other nice things might a manfriend* do?

*Or ladyfriend as I can’t leave out our beloved gentlemen spinster friends!

-Kate

Kate the Man Nibbler

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I have a confession, friends.  I haven’t logged on to that online dating site in over a month.  I know, it’s crazy (or cray-cray as my sister would say).  But here’s the thing.  I’m in over my head with this online dating thing.  I don’t know how to date multiple men at once.  I know, I know, you’re thinking, “Kate, you don’t have to date multiple men at one time.  Just pick one and see what develops.”  But gosh darn it, people, I paid good money for a three-month membership.  There is no way I will date only one person at a time and move on to the next only if the first fizzles.  I would make some argument about being responsible with my money but it comes across in an odd way.  You know what I mean.

Things were swell at the outset.  I went on a several dates with different guys and things mutually fizzled.  This was a happy thing!  I got back into the swing of dating but didn’t have to deal with the whole liking several men at once thing.  That was until mid-December when I went on two dates in one week (wild woman, right here!) and liked both the guys.  Enough to think of a second date.  Enough to think I might even want to go on three dates with each.

Intellectual Isaac is approximately the same age, hails from my home state, is a lover of reading and writing, and even owns a cat.  I swoon!  Intriguing Ivan, a reader of the audio variety, likes to keep up with his speech and debate skills, and even agrees with me that a woman shouldn’t have to take her husband’s last name (a topic of which I plan to address next week – stay tuned!).  I swoon again!

So here I am, texting two gentlemen, and feeling very uncomfortable with the situation.  It’s not because I don’t think you should date multiple people at once.  In fact, I think this is perfectly acceptable and is something more people should consider.  Half of my generation seems to throw themselves into the worst kind of relationships since it happens to be their only option at a particular time. I’m no stranger to this, even if it was 6 or 7 years ago.  My discomfort actually stems from the What If factor.

What if Intellectual Isaac should show up at the same bar as I’m at with Intriguing Ivan even though he lives 40 minutes away and doesn’t go to bars but decides he should check one out this night and then he sees us and then he’s all horrified that I’m on a date with Intriguing Ivan and he’ll call me the next day and tell me he never wants to see me again and he demands that I destroy any evidence of his short stories which he kindly sent to me to read?

(You were supposed to say that in one breath without pausing because, you know, that’s how I do it)

What if Intriguing Ivan decides to romance me with a romantic dinner and romantic candle light and I must sneak away to the restroom to remove an offending piece of spinach from betwixt my teeth and while I’m gone Intellectual Isaac texts me but I don’t realize that my phone has fallen out of my purse and Intriguing Ivan gallantly rescues it from it’s fate beneath my chair but in doing so sees that Intellectual Ivan would like us to have a movie night wherein we watch The Holiday and cuddle with our cats and then Intriguing Ivan demands I leave without even a nibble of the bread pudding he was preparing for me because he know I likes it so?

Or my simplest fear:

What if, after a number of good dates with each of the gentlemen, I can’t decide who it is that I like more than the other?

I haven’t dated enough to know this will all work itself out.  That maybe I won’t even have to decide but it will instead be one of them that has a fizzled feeling.  So I will live in fear that I will somehow screw this up, all the while feeling very ill-at-ease with myself on this particular topic.

If you have suggestions about how to own the dating (multiple people at one time) scene, I’m all ears.  Any bit of reassurance you can offer on this topic would be appreciated because lord knows I want to curl up in the fetal position every time I think of the possibilities.

-Kate

Btw, fizzled is my new favorite word of the week.  Apologies for the over-use but I love it so!

The Hair Down There

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Or  When Not to Experiment with Your Grooming Habits

What is about to follow is a story that falls into the TMI category, of which I’m known.  Apologies are offered in advance.  I would also note this is potentially NAFW so you’ve been warned…

Friends, I have thoughts about The Hair Down There (THDT) and could go on quite the rant but I’m going to leave the honor to Grace or Mae.  We’ve discussed the issue of THDT a number of times and I think they’d do the topic better justice than I.  That being said, I was of the bare persuasion for a number of years following an incident involving a boat party, a swimsuit, and wayward tuft of THDT. Apparently it takes something like 10 years to recover from that kind of thing but the good news is I decided it was time I return to a natural state.  And return to the natural state I did.  In a pretty serious way.  As in my nether regions were like the dense depths of a jungle.  Sans critters, of course.  It’s not like I had to prepare myself for any type of swimsuit situation given the season.  Not to mention I don’t currently stock any of the necessary grooming accoutrements so I sort of thought of this as my time to prime the canvas.  I could get creative later on.

Or so I thought.

As Grace mentioned, I attended a wedding this past weekend.  I was working with roughly 19 eligible bachelors (a generous estimate).  This meant the odds were pretty high that I’d come across an attractive gentleman or two and while I don’t oppose a good looking man, I was determined that I would not give in to the drunken wedding make out.  And really, I don’t know why it was that I decided for it to be the Weekend of Resistance.  There’s nothing wrong with a good make out and a wedding one is particularly nice since it’s easier to avoid the post-make out awkwardness.  Still, I got the thought in my mind and wanted to stick to it.

My friends were of the opposition on this one as I’m the lone single friend and they live vicariously through my experiences.  If there’s a hot guy or scandalous situation you can bet they’re pushing me into it and I suspect it’s only because they can’t do so themselves.  So when my makeup was complete, my hair was coiffed, and I was looking pretty damn good, they were on a mission.  One girlfriend was particularly determined to introduce me to every Eligible of her acquaintance and I can’t say I objected.  Once I was there, looking rather fetching in an elegant bridesmaid dress (I know! I was shocked!) I wanted to bring all the boys to my yard (as Grace might say).  Which, now that I think of the phrase, takes on a whole other meaning given the state of my lady bits…

Slip me a glass or wine or five and I become an amalgam of the dancing queen and coquette.  It wasn’t long before a rather attractive man entered the scene.  We’ll call him Ferragamo Fred – oh, was he dapper!  I spent a good deal of time admiring his stellar choice in tie and footwear when I wasn’t shooting him seductive looks.  After three hours and several dances with Ferragamo Fred, all thoughts of resistance flew out the window.

I had visions of Ferragamo Fred flitting through my mind as I returned to my hotel room to prepare for the post-reception bar revelry.  And while I was tipsy, I wasn’t drunk enough to ignore the fact that I was less than comfortable with my new grooming habits.  True, I embrace it in theory, but I was obviously not comfortable embracing it in practice because a shower sounded like a stellar idea.

Friends, it’s just that I didn’t know how I would have felt if THDT made an appearance that night.  After 10 years it can take awhile to get back in the swing of things and while I embrace change, I do so in a gradual way.  Suddenly, my newly ungroomed state had me in a panic and I can only tell you it was because I didn’t know the guy that well.  You might be the type that would rather experience this type of thing with a stranger and there’s nothing wrong with that.  I just happened to come to the conclusion that I need someone known, with whom I could guarantee acceptance.  If a guy, stranger or not, does not accept my non-bare nether regions then he’s a jerk but that night I didn’t feel confident I’d take a stand for myself if he gave me a weird look.  And if there’s a time that I might get a weird look I want to be sure I will say something and put him in his place to do my views on the subject justice.

At this point I should perhaps allay any fears you had for my HDT.  It took a lot of time to get back to the au naturale state so there was no way I’d completely undo my hard work, but I did do a bit of gardening (taking the yard bit too far?).  I don’t recommend wielding a razor at 12:30 AM, and at that hour the bar of soap becomes a slippery little sucker, but when all was said and done my nether regions resembled something more akin to a small copse.

I wish I could tell you the rest of my evening end involved dark corners, Ferragamo Fred, and a slip of the tongue, but alas, the wine started to leave my system and I resistance once again seemed like a good thing.   Needless to say, if you’re considering an experiment with your grooming habits, I recommend you consider the situation in advance. Think about what time will be ideal for you to embrace your newly natural state.  I’m a bit disappointed that I didn’t feel more comfortable with the situation and I would hope that others could have a different, more confident, experience if choosing to go that route.

-Kate

My Dearest Katharine…

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My workplace is limiting my email storage so I’ve been forced to look at emails I wrote back in the day.  It’s fun to see how unprofessional I was when I was a wee little Kate, making my foray into the business world.  Like the time I used 17 exclamation points in one message.  That was really cool.  I’m sure the Vice President who got my three-paragraph thank you email about lunch thought that was really cute.  But I digress. It was during this clean-up that I came across a rather large group of emails from my last boyfriend in ::coughcough2007coughcough::. It would have been weird to go through them, re-read them, re-live my mindset from back then, so I quickly glanced at a couple then did a mass delete and it felt good.  But! I was reminded of something missing in my life.

Where have all the love letters gone?  [When I think these words they are to the tune of that Paula Cole song and it adds a little something.  You should try it.]

We live in an age where the love letter has been replaced with the email or the text message.  While I could use this as a platform to lament the use of the email or the text message, I will not.  You see, I actually like them quite a bit.  As opposed to a letter, they’re something you can get unexpectedly, any time of the day.  That text message I got after a grueling meeting from a date telling me he looks forward to see me tonight?  Yah, I’ll never object to it.

However, it’s the sheer volume of text messages and emails, and the obvious ease of sending them, which makes the love letter special, coveted, and missed.  It says something when your significant other takes the time to pull out the nice paper, the nice pen, and spend the time to come up with the perfect way to describe your golden locks or the way he goes all mushy when you tilt your head just so.

Further:

  • Love letters provide the perfect opportunity for you to use your lover’s full name in a way that’s really sexy.  In romance novels, the heroine always notices when the hero uses her first name for the first time.  I don’t know about you, but seeing Katharine on the page would definitely make my lady parts quiver a little bit more than seeing Kate.  And that’s just the first word!  Nicknames are acceptable but I would caution anyone that the love letter is not the place to test out that new “pumpkin cheeks” name you thought of when you saw your loved one bending over in the supermarket aisle to reach for that can of peas.
  • Love letters are an acceptable place to describe that weird quirk about your lover that you never knew how to say in person.  Or maybe shouldn’t say.  Like the fact that in he mornings you like watching his nostrils flare while he’s still sleeping.  You think it’s cute.  But imagine the conversation if you were to say that to his face.  Awkward!  The love letter, instead, lets you express this and avoid the strange look he might give you.  It might then even turn into a blush and he’ll take a certain pride in his schnoz, knowing it gives you so much pleasure.
  • Love letters have an enduring and tangible aspect that just isn’t with an email or a text.  I once found the love letters my dad wrote to my mum.  She keeps them in a box and I have to tell you, I was (still am) impressed with my 12 yr. old self and the fact that I respected their privacy and didn’t read them.  This, coming from the snoop of all snoops (I was a really awesome babysitter but my gawd, such a snoop!  “I wonder what’s in this drawer!”).  Still, it was very romantic and while I don’t know if she ever references them, it’s the idea that she could.  No digging through filed emails or trying to remember that sweet text message from five years ago.  The letters are there, in your hands, always available, and looking more loved and cherished over time.  Someday, your kids might even think they’d be great scrapbook material!  That wouldn’t be embarrassing or anything.

This is not exhaustive, but I hope you get the point.  There should be no objection to the love letter unless your dearest took out a restraining order.  So I encourage you to go forth, put the pen to the page, and resolve to write more love letters in 2012.  The world as we know it is coming to an end so it’s not like you have anything to lose.

-Kate

The Payment Dilemma

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I’m a terrible first date.  It’s been one first-dating snafu after another.  All those taboo topics?  Kids? Politics? Religion? Sex?  Oh yah, I’ve broached them all.  Someone really needs to put a muzzle on me.  The words flow from my mouth and I try to reel them back in but they’re slippery little things and always seem to get away…

Perhaps the most repeated offense I make is the topic I don’t bring up.  I don’t offer to pay on the first date.  If you gasped and covered your mouth, you’re not alone.  Everyone (and I do mean everyone) tells me this is incredibly rude and Not The Way To Do Things.

99% of my acquaintances state a guy should pay for the first date.  This marks him not just as a man, but a gentleman.  Apparently it also tells you he’s not cheap, really does have a job, etc. and etc.   If that 99% of my acquaintances says that a guy should pay, then that means while a girl can offer, she should never pay.  Guys tell me this.  Girls tell me this.

So if I shouldn’t pay, and a guy isn’t going to allow me to pay, then why must I offer? Why is this?  Why must this be?

I tried to come up with several reasons behind it.  Perhaps the offer is supposed to tell the man she’s considerate.  Maybe it tells him she doesn’t expect things.  Or that she’s financially conscious during these hard economic times .  I get it.  Kind of.  But not really.

Hear me out.

If 99% of people think that a guy should always pay and the girl shouldn’t… then doesn’t the offer by the girl count as insincere? “I’m offering to pay and I really would do it but then I know you won’t really let me and you shouldn’t let me!”  There seems to be no point to checking off that box.  It makes it seem like the date is a  game show.  Offer to pay and you advance to the next round!  The reality is I just feel terribly fake when I ask because I know what the outcome will be.

This is, of course, remedied when I’ve made it through to date #2  and I’ve paid for that second meal.  If I can’t split a dinner the first time around, then let me pay for the second so I can show I’m considerate and I’m not taking advantage of the situation. This is acceptable, right?

Can I get a yay?

Or should I file this under things I shouldn’t overanalyze at 1:30 AM on my holiday break?

Or maybe just a “quit being a dumbass and offer to pay?”

- Kate

The Run-In

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I had other plans for this post but I’m hijacking my own slot to write about the awkwardness that just happened.  It was online date #4 (as in with the 4th person, not 4th date ever).  Anywho.  We were meeting for drinks and I got to the bar a little early.  The date called to say he was running a few minutes late so I attempted to busy myself with my phone while standing in the parking lot.  Until I noticed a dude sitting outside.  But not just any dude, one of the two dudes that drove me to finish my online dating profile during my boy-induced rage!

Now is as good a time as any to tell you the reason things didn’t work out between us had to do with the fact that he thought things were moving too fast.  I brought him out to friend’s birthday dinner and somehow that was just too darn quick for him.  Even if it was after a solid month we’d been dating.  And there were 16 people there so it wasn’t some intimate gathering.  But then you know how those things are.  If I brought him to a birthday party after just a month then obviously I had marriage on the mind.   From that night on he turned into a giant flake who couldn’t make up his mind about anything.  He continued to keep up with texting (no, he never did call and yes, that should have been an earlier sign) and he made one, “we should catch up tomorrow” comment after another.  I always thought he meant it, then he never followed through.  I’m honestly a little bit embarrassed that I wasted so much time and emotional energy trying to figure out our situation when it was painfully obvious that he was just not interested.  It was about Nov. 7th when I finally got really angry about the whole situation.  That’s the night I finished my profile.

So back to last night.  Of all the effing people at a bar that I never go to, it was almost too perfect.  You guys, I looked hot.  My legs went on for days, my waist was tiny and nipped in, and my newly highlighted hair was shiny and perfect.  I could have walked into the bar without sparing him a second glance but there was no way in hell I was going to waste the opportunity to show him what he was missing.  I walked back to my car to grab “something I forgot.”  Then my phone became incredibly interesting and it was very important that I stop, pose with my long leg placed just so, and send a text.  It was followed closely by the requisite hand-through-hair-followed-by-sexy-hair-toss move.  And oh, he noticed.

Then, then!  I happened to find an open table and what group should be sitting next to me?  Oh yah.  I was sparking and lovely, introducing myself to everyone and generally making a great impression.  Our mutual friend asked if they should leave after he found out I was there on a date.  Oh no.  No, no, no.  Please stay!  See me on my hot date!

And alright, this is where the story kind of falls.  I ended up sitting with my back to that table so I wasn’t distracted by anyone and the night sort of went on.  The table vacated at some point but I didn’t notice because I was caught up in conversation with my date.  And gawd, it was a good date.  He was intelligent and intriguing and I was happy for the date to go on, and on, and on…  It was the perfect of example of my initial desire to do the online dating thing.  He was more interesting, cuter, was engaging, and completely distracted me from the earlier events of the night.  I’ll spare you the nitty gritty details but he was a fantastic kisser.

I guess that’s the best revenge.

- Kate

Online Dating: The First 24 Hours

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Nine months ago I got curious.  It was three years since I’d had a serious relationship and while I’m in no rush, it was starting to feel like I had one of those number flip charts pasted to my chest, telling people just how long it had been.  They say 1 in 5 couples meet through online dating.  Since I didn’t want to meet someone in a bar, at work, or church it seemed my options were limited.  There had to be something there.  I started an online dating profile to test the waters and see what was out there but I wasn’t quite ready to go there just yet,  got cold feet, and never finished the thing.  Story of my dating life.

Flash forward to this past November when, in a fit of boy-induced rage (the details of which I’ll save for another time), I decided to finish my profile.  Watch me find cuter guys!  Watch me find more interesting guys!  Watch me show you!   And okay, it took me a few minutes to track down my username and when I realized what it was I was a little bit embarrassed.  How the hell did I come up with that?  But I suppose that’s one of the things you should know – if you already feel a little embarrassed about the fact that you’re writing about yourself and posting it out there for men to peruse as if you’re a vegetable in the produce aisle, you’ll feel even worse when you realize your username is KatetheCatch0022.

After the low of realizing my username I was greeted with the pleasant surprise of an almost complete profile.  There’s a certain joy that comes at 2:00 AM when you realize you don’t have to re-address the “do I want kids” question.   I cruised along, even more pleased to find I hadn’t changed that much in 9 months.  Gentlemen, I’m consistent!  Things were lovely.  This was easier than I remembered.  And then the dreaded free-form “About Me” section reared its ugly head.

It’s sort of like being asked to tweet your life story in 140 characters of less.  How are you supposed to properly convey your sparkling personality and what you’re looking for in a dinky little character-limited form?  Oh sure, they give you examples, but those feel more like cruel reminders of just how lame your own section sounds.  What should take you 30 minutes will be suck up 3 fucking hours of your life so grab a cup of tea and settle in.

Monday rolled around and when I got around to the good ol’ email, there were 40 messages waiting for me.  I like to think I have friends that care about me, but 40 personal emails on a Monday morning was unexpected.  Did I win the lottery and everyone else knew it but me?

And then I saw the first subject line.  And then it hit me.  My profile.  That sucker went live the second I clicked finish.

This is where, if you’re like me, you might experience a wee bit of hyperventilation.  Or break out in a cold sweat.  Or  both.  Fuck.  What did I do?!

Give yourself 10 minutes.  These feelings will pass.

If you get to this point, there are things you should know:

  • You could be saving wee lil’ ones from a fire but you’ll feel like you have to stop what you’re doing to check all the emails.  Boys!  More boys!
  • The next 3-6 months of your life will not be the same.  See, you can’t read those emails until you sign up.  After hemming and hawing about whether you should sign up (you’ll tell people it took you hours to decide when it was really a matter of minutes) you’ll go and find that discount coupon and slap down the cash.
  • You’ll feel embarrassed for a time, fearing it makes you look desperate.  Then you’ll come across guys you know.  Like that dude from your stat class in high school.  Or your mortgage broker!  When you tell people about this, they will exclaim that they, too, are on the dating sites.  Or that’s how they met their husband! You’ll feel a lot less desperate and start to proclaim the virtues of online dating.
  • A visit to the site that you think will take 5 minutes will take 5 hours.
  • Your social calendar is about to get very, very crazy.

Let the dating begin.

-Kate