two times the awkwardness.

Palms sweaty, heart beating a little bit, you make your way to your pre-arranged meeting spot.  You check for spinach in your teeth, put your best face forward, and awkwardly suffer through the new few hours, tell yourself that you had a good time, and leave praying for a call back.

Sound familiar…?

Is this a date…? or a job interview? Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference.

As a single girl that’s ALSO looking for a new job, I feel like I’ve had enough stress and awkward situations to last the average person 12 lifetimes.

Having just left yet another job interview that will undoubtedly pan out to nothing (due to a lousy HR director that failed to screen for compatible salaries), the similarities to dating and job hunting nearly smacked me in the face.  It’s like this never-ending cycle.

Everyone’s faking it at first, wanting to be liked.  Then the one YOU actually like wont call you back and the one that is all about you doesn’t pay enough or has poor hygiene and those ungodly bright colored sneakers (you know, the ones that look like they were thrown up on by a box of crayola crayons).  What’s worse, one of you will likely wind up bored with the relationship or career in a year or two and the cycle begins again.

But the sad part is, there’s nothing you can really do about it.  It’s all part of the game, my friend.  As cheesy as it sounds, you gotta keep putting yourself out there, and keep sipping that proverbial porridge until you find the one that’s the perfect fit.

So for now, you can call me “Goldilocks”,

Q

like a fish needs a bicycle.

I never really intended for this to be a blog about my love life or a “Sex and the City-esque” retelling of my weekends.  But i suppose that is somehow what it is becoming.  I always said that I would simply write about what was on my mind, without holding anything back, so I guess this says something about my priorities right now.

It’s been four days since I’ve heard from the boy with the crooked smile.  I’m here practically sitting on my hands to prevent myself from texting him.

I won’t do it.

I refuse.

Instead, I’m making up excuses for the reasons why he was possibly too busy to do so all weekend long and willing my phone to light up any second now.

Maybe he was tragically killed while pushing a small child out of the path of a moving bus.  Or maybe he was stricken with horrible food poisoning and spent the last 3 days in the hospital.  Or maybe he is just so gosh darn into me (duh) that he is waiting even LONGER than the obligatory three days so that he doesn’t seem over-eager and blow it?

…or maybe I am certifiably insane and it is completely and utterly clear that he is “just not that into me”.

Sigh.

So now I guess I just pick myself up, dust myself off, and start reminding myself that I’m awesome and amazing and totally fine alone.  Hell, I even put my AC unit in without any help!

I don’t need no stinkin’ man,

Q

table for two.

I had a date last night.

Let me be the first to say that dating sucks.  It REALLY really sucks.

There’s all this pressure to pick out a cute outfit, there’s the awkward greeting (do you hug?) then there’s the awkwardness of who’s going to pay, then there’s the awkward goodbye (do you give him a quick kiss?  or does the situation call for a heavy duty make out?).  For this reason, I secretly envy my married friends for being free of this clumsy dance.

So last night I wore my quintessential “I look hot but I’m not trying too hard” date night outfit – cute black top, white skirt, black flats and met him at the bar.  I was there before him (damnit!), so I plopped myself down on a bar-stool, ordered a beer, and hoped it would give me courage.  He showed up and I immediately got butterflies.  He cleaned himself up for the evening and was looking ridiculously adorable clean shaven and polo-shirted.

The conversation was good (although I admittedly become less and less articulate with the more beers I consume).  He paid.  We left the bar and went to a diner for some late night food and more (drunken/sleepy) conversation.

At around 1am he dropped me off back at my car, and feeling brazen and unable to resist the crooked smile, I grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him towards me.  Let it be known: I will melt for any man that bites my bottom lip. (sigh).

So I went home, did a slight celebration dance alone in my room.  And now, the next morning, I’m doing the “omigod, does he like me? will he call again?” obsessed freak out.

See?  Even when it’s good, dating is bad.

Think he will call?

Q

worse than mary jane.

I am beginning to think that I’m like a gateway drug – a drug that leads you inevitably down that road directly to marriage.

All (well, maybe not all… but a solid 85% or so) of my ex’s are in serious relationships and very much in love, and all (again, maybe not ALL, but most) of these relationships are ones that they found immediately after dating me.  How does this happen?  Do they meet someone and think “Oh my god.  Thank Heaven! She’s so different.  I. must. marry. her. immediately”?

I’ve spent a lot of time over the last several days thinking about what could have been.  What if I hadn’t left?  Would that be me in her shoes… smiling while I pick out a dress? moving in? or half halfheartedly attending the family functions and still looking on as he chugs Jim Beam from the bottle?

I know playing these games with myself is useless.  I know I only did what I felt was right in my heart at the time.  I’ve always believed that if there is any hesitation at all, or any question in your heart, then it’s not “right”.  I only wish that someone could look into my future and tell me not to worry – I made the right choice.

I made a realization last night that nearly took my breath away:  The one person on this Earth that still knows me inside and out and better than anyone is someone that I walked out on and pushed away a year and a half ago for no better reason than simply needing “space”.

I needed space then… but now I just feel alone.

Such is the great irony of life.

Trying to smile,

Q

gravel under your wheels.

Number one way to ruin a good buzz:  Running into your ex boyfriend while he is out with his new girlfriend (particularly when you are looking far from your best… sigh).

After the fact, I can think of about 1289612 things that I wish I had done or said to him.

I wish I played his least favorite song on the jukebox and sang along.

I wish that I walked right up to him and introduced myself to his new girlfriend.

I wish that I flirted shamelessly with the bartender and was showing a little more leg.

I wish that I failed to even acknowledge his existence.

Instead, I did the only thing I could think to do:  I raised a toast (loudly) to “douche bags everywhere” and promptly left the bar, thankful that he’s no longer my responsibility.

Putting the “ass” in “class”,

Q