Bitter has left the building

In an effort to truly put myself out there, I’ve dated (meaning been on more than a couple dates with) approximately 10 guys in the past 12 to 13 months. That’s a lot of guys and a lot of dates. I’ve learned an awful lot about myself (and some of it really was awful). Like, sometimes I think too much, and don’t say enough. Sometimes, I don’t think enough, and have word vomit. High expectations can be good, but those expectations have to be tempered with kindness and a dose of reality. Ugh, reality. Judgment can and should be used, but only judge someone as harshly as you’d like them to judge you. Good on paper doesn’t always mean good on a date. And sometimes when a guy only meets the bare minimum of items on the checklist, the chemistry can be out of this world. Oh, and sometimes, if I don’t sleep and have one too many Rockstars (the caffeinated beverage, not actual Rockstars) I can say some really weird things. (One guy called me crazy. And it wasn’t like “Whooo-hoo! You’re just crazy amounts of fun! It was in no way, shape, or form a compliment.)

During the past year, dating has been, shall we say, painful. Imagine how you feel after an 18-hour day of wearing 4-inch stilettos. On the outside it looks great, sexy even. But by the end of the day, everything hurts, and if you can’t take the heels off soon, you might stab yourself in the eye, just to forget about the pain in your feet.

The list of atrocities I’ve suffered seemingly never-ends. I’ve been flaked out on. One guy cancelled a date like three nights in row because he was too tired. Seriously. Drink a diet coke. I’ve been offered dinner from a vending machine, and asked to a hotel room (both were the same guy). I’ve been left hanging. I went out with a guy three times and he said he’d call, but never did. Where do those guys go? Off to the Island of Lost Men? Turns out, he got back with his ex. Why not just tell me that so I don’t have to wonder what I did wrong? I’ve been treated like a child. One guy asked what I was looking for in a guy, so I told him. Little did I know, it was a trick question. After I divulged, he said, “You know, I think girls should focus a little more on what they can offer a husband, and a little less on what they want out of a husband.” Condescending much?

I’ve been lied to. I’ve been booty-called, I’ve been name-called, had my heart broken and just generally disrespected. Now you might look at me and say, “Holly, get a grip. These are your problems? Some mediocre dates and a few bad break-ups?” Well, sir, I look at you and say, “Yeah my life’s not so bad, but what’s a blog for if not for some self-indulgent whining?”

Not that I haven’t had some fun, and some good experiences. And sometimes, lets be honest, it just comes down to the fact that you’re not a match. But dating is a means to an end. And when you can’t seem to reach that end (yes, I mean the “M” word) all the negative experiences can become overwhelming and discouraging. I mean, I have a righteous desire, and I’m doing my part, so what gives?

Despite sometimes feeling like I’m at the end of my rope, I’ve decided this: No matter how bad dating gets, no matter how long it takes to find that guy, and no matter how many break-ups I suffer through, (and no matter how many dates I am asked on by text message) I refuse to carry that baggage forward. I will be kind and sweet and positive. I will be optimistic. I will not make one guy atone for the sins of the previous 8 or 9. I will not be cynical, bitter, or jaded (or maybe just enough to stay a little feisty, cause let's be honest, we all like that). I will be humble enough to recognize my shortcomings, and gracious enough to overlook the shortcomings of others. (Now you're saying, "Yes, this is what blogs are for, some public self-realization.")

And if all else fails, and I’m still single at 40, I’ll just take a trip to the animal shelter and adopt a dozen cats, start a knitting club, and hit up my nearest Mervyn’s for some elastic waist pants.

Just kidding. I will NEVER wear elastic waist pants.