Linda, Glasses, the Dealer and Rhino
ALRIGHT! That is it. I am dating, no more fucking around. I will have a first date after death. But what is a date? Coffee? Drinks? Do people still go to a full blown dinner? Is a dinner too much to ask? Who pays for said dinner? If I ask him out, should I pay? I am so confused. OK, I am not paying for anything, well not anything, I might buy you a cup of coffee, if you’re cute and have a butt I can bounce a quarter off of.
It is 8:47 in the morning and these are the thoughts that race through my mind. I am alone, I have just dropped my daughter off at school and I am alone. Fuck! I grab my phone and text my bitch. She and I establish ground rules for dating, this is good, this is awesome. I’m getting pumped, I clap my hands in preparation for boy hunting. Every fantastic, miraculous event started with a foundation. Perfect, that was the problem, I didn’t have rules. It’s not the empty, gapping, life sucking, hole in my heart that is the problem, it’s that I didn’t have rules.
- Do not message a boy first, no matter how gorgeous, dead sexy or red headed he may be (those fucking red heads get me every time).
- Once you receive a message, wait a minimum of four hours to message back.
This is good, I say to myself. I can’t handle anymore dick pics (see blog posts, here a pic, there a pic, everywhere a dick pic, part 1 and 2) no matter how hilarious.
- Realize you are not desperate and can be perfectly happy alone. (yeah right)
- No sex talk until after the first real date.
Overstreet and I decide this is a good starting point. I quickly head to Okcupid. No one said I couldn’t look. I put my phone down on my night stand and start chanting in my head. “I am not desperate, I am not desperate. My phone beeps at me. It’s a message from Okcupid. Holy fucking shit! It worked, my chanting worked. My head is spinning with more dating questions. Since I have to wait four hours to message a boy back, should I just not check the message for four hours? Yep, that’s what I am doing, I look at my phone. It has been approximately seven minutes since I receive the message. I can’t help myself, I grab my phone and check the message, no one said I can’t READ the message.
I scroll through my Okcupid app and see who wants me. Unbelievable! It’s a red headed boy and he wants to know how I am this morning. Well, I have to answer him back now because if I wait the required four hours, it won’t be morning anymore and I can not start my dating life being rude. Geez.
Desperation is a hell of a drug.
I respond that I am very well and I ask how he is doing. Yep, this is it, I am going on a date. A real date, not caring that I just broke rule #2. We message each other until morning becomes afternoon and I am about to break rule #3. I tell him he is sexy as hell. (I’m telling you red heads have a sick, disturbing, power over me.)
During our chat, he asks me, what’s my spirit animal. Now, never in my life have I thought about my spirit animal. Thank God for google, which provided me with a handy quiz, where I determine, not only what exactly a spirit animal is but how to find mine. In case you’re wondering, my spirit animal is a butterfly. His is a rhino.
At this point in my saga, I feel it necessary to remind folks, that severe grief fucks your shit up.
So Rhino and I are chatting via Okcupid and my phone pings again. Holy shit, another boy, another date. My phone pings once more, another boy, another date. I am so excited I text Overstreet, of course I conveniently forget to mention to her that I broke the rules we had established after about minute one. It’s OK, she’s my best bitch, she’ll forgive me. I still don’t tell her.
However I do tell her that three boys are interested in me. I am sure that one will ask me out on a date. I don’t yet know what a date is in 2014 officially but I am hopeful that one of these boys will tell me and then take me on one. I spend the next few weeks talking to these boys. No date yet. I can’t really keep them straight, I don’t really remember their names and I find them all incredibly mundane and pedestrian. I keep talking to all of them, at this point there are four boys in my rotation. FOUR! I guess my mother is right, I am too good for bad boys and too bad for good boys.
Could it be that Peter was the perfect badass gentleman? Could it be that I should not date anyone and focus on myself and grieving. Nope, fuck that shit, I need a date.
Overstreet can’t keep them straight either, she asks question after question about each boy. As I said I don’t really care enough to remember specifics and since I am not asking them for a picture of their dick, I really have no game to play. I am also hesitant to tell them I am a widow, fearing that the news will bring down our already boring ass conversations.
Overstreet and I devise another list, this time the list consists of the boys most prominent feature. You must understand these list are purely organic and spontaneous and of course in code, so if someone hears it they will never understand.
I text Overstreet the list for her approval.
OK there is:
Rhino, because that’s his sprit animal, plus he kinda looks like a red headed rhino.
Glasses, because he wears bright yellow glasses, that quite frankly, annoy the shit out of me.
We have Linda, because from day one he has begged me to have sex with him. He reminds us of the toddler that became an internet sensation when he tries to reason with his mom by calling her by her first name, listen, Linda, listen.
Then last but not least we have the dealer, who gets his name because he is …an art dealer, yeah that’s it, an art dealer.
It has been a few weeks of messaging and none of these boys have asked me for my phone number, let alone a date. I lie in bed and cry, texting all the while. I feel so lonely.
I declare to anyone that happens to text or call me, I am done with dating, I don’t need a boy to complete me. I am perfectly fine without attention from the weaker sex. Besides Peter just died and I should really focus on myself and my children’s emotional health. Perfect.
Just as I become steady in my resolve, my Okcupid app pings. It’s a message from rhino, he wants my phone number. HE WANTS MY PHONE NUMBER!!! I am so excited at the prospect of attention from a boy, that my singledom* resolve flies out the window. (Singledom is not really a word but cut me some slack, I am a widow for Gods sake.) I text Overstreet and tell her rhino asked for my number and I am sure that he is going to ask me out.
God bless my best friend, for she weathers my current emotional storm, never mentioning the storm before. I give rhino my number and he indeed asks me out. We plan a date for coffee and I am elated. We meet for coffee a few days later. Unfortunately the rhino was not what I expected…