Praying for a “Bad” Date

I’ve been in a dating drought for the last 7ish months. I’ve been super single for the last 15 months; casual dating, but nothing relationship-ish at all. I’ve been a dating rut… to say the least. It’s been as dry as the Sahara Desert. I’ve come to terms with the fact that’s life. As a long-term single person, sometimes that’s the reality we all face. You make your peace with sleeping in the middle of the bed, and binge watching every television series known to man. 
So far, 2016 has been about self-development. I’ve worked on education, health, and my career. You know, just a few minor things in life. Men haven’t been the priority or focus, and it’s been nice. I kind of feel like I’ve got things firing on all cylinders, and I’m happy with the progress I’ve made. 
I’ve realized the year is flying by, and with all my, “love yourself, focus on yourself, become a bad-ass bitch” mantras, I’ve found myself annoyingly single. My mattress also has a Piper size dent in it, because it’s been ages since anyone, other than Piper has been in that bed. 
So, like any single human does, I reinstalled Tinder, you know, just for like the 7,343 time. Justifying this decision with the realization I need to just to put myself out there, remember what it’s like to go on a date, remember how to interact with men whom I’m not related to, or work with. 
In the last week, I’ve gone on dates with three different men. I’ve also realized, that I’m either: 
A. Expecting them to be kind of a flop, but also,
 B. Hoping they’re kind of a flop. 
I get that dating is a numbers game, and when you randomly decide to go out with three dudes from Tinder, you shouldn’t have your expectations sky-high. You would be setting yourself up for major disappointment. This all makes sense. What doesn’t make sense was the fact I was kind of hoping they wouldn’t work out. Why you ask? Well, let’s dive in and see just how crazy I really am.
I’ve gotten really comfortable with my life just the way it is. I do whatever I want, with whomever I want, and life is good. If I want to eat popcorn for dinner, sweet. If I want to drink greyhounds until 2 AM on a Tuesday, right on. If I’m busy working late or in class ‘til late, no one complains but me. You don’t realize how insidiously single life takes you over, until, one day you wake up and your 52 with 7 cats. I’m hoping this isn’t my reality, but I totally get how that happens now. Lucky for me, I still don’t even have a house plant, let alone a pet of any kind. This leads me to my next reason…
I don’t have to take care of anyone else’s shit but my own. I have streamlined my life such that, I don’t have much shit. I only surround myself with my friends and family who add to my life; people are supportive and generally lovely. People who only want the best for me. I’ve cut out all the negative and draining humans. I don’t have time for it. The prospect of letting in an unknown, who could turn out to be not so fabulous, is terrifying. Let’s face it, my track record with men is kind of pathetic. I have dated some of the most narcissistic, selfish, despicable men. You know, you’ve read my blogs. If you haven’t, I suggest you take a little stroll through the site. It’s bad. I assure you. 
Another reason I’m scared of hitting it off with someone, is… what if you like them and they’re not so into you? What if you actually put yourself out there, and click and they don’t feel the same way. It’s easier to set yourself up to believe the guy will just be a weirdo with bushy eyebrows and an epic Star Wars collection, than think that you might be rejected. Who the hell wants to be rejected? 
So, I find myself thinking, “If this date is a dud, I’ll be home by 8:30 PM, which will still give me enough time to catch up a couple more episodes of Game of Thrones!” Hi…. Why are you even going on this damn date if you just want to stay home and watch GOT!?! Kind of backward, no? Kind of sick a dud of a date is better than an amazing one. One that could change your life. One that could get you out of the Piper shaped hole in your mattress. 
Maybe I’m not ready to date yet. Maybe 15 months hasn’t been enough time. I may or may not have had, seemingly out of no where, an epic breakdown on the way home from my parent’s house yesterday listening to Stranded by Plumb because I’m still super angry at my ex for asking me to have a baby, and then quickly proceeding to dump me and move across the state. This happened TWO years ago, but I’m still angry. Angry, because I have to go on all these dumb dates with dudes from Tinder. Maybe I still need to work through those issues. Part of me thinks he’s always going to be burned into my heart, like a brand and I’m always going to have that scar. I don’t know. I don’t know what is going to fix it. Maybe I have to just move on with my life. Maybe I just need therapy. That could also be it.  


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