bravery

Nine dates in two weeks have me stymied. They're nice guys, they're interested. They're interesting. I just don't *like* them. Nothing, nada, zip. This track record is NOT normal. I'm average in the looks department, and flirt-ignorant. Divine intervention could spur such numbers, but no starry-eyed missionary would set such an unobtainable goal.

I haven't dated anyone for two years. Those who piqued my interest weren't piqued. No contact, Houston; we have a consistent lack of reciprocation, sides variable.

Enter a recent visit to my friend's apartment. We joke with roommates, with people a few doors over... While laughing, we're joined by a random individual from down the hall. He's funny. He's smart. He's charismatic. He can appreciate an impertinent sense of humor. And... I like him! I didn't think much of it in the moment, but I like him! Long story short, my friend bullied me into writing my name and number on a piece of paper, and pushed me toward his door.

I'll take this moment to interject: I'd like to find the right guy, I'm tired. I've also learned that you never have anything to lose. It's not like you run into random people again.


So, at 12:30a.m. I knocked on his door. I said, and I quote: "You're cute, smart, and funny; and you should ask me on a date." A proud moment in my life, if only for pride's sake. (Now THAT'S courage!) It seemed to go well. I'm waiting to see if he calls. (And a little scared). In any case, I think someone else might be giving me a hint... 9 dates is kind of a slap in the face. I'm trying, I'm trying.