I have been in denial, realizing that the more I swim in its waters the more I feel as if I'm drowning. What am I drowning in, you ask? Let's just say I'm swimming in some sort of caramel substance, struggling to go anywhere. This doesn't seem fathomable to a competitive swimmer, I need a rescue tube quick! (preferably in a form of a very cute boy!) Yes, the Datist is in a dating funk of some sort. I've had no desire for a sudden raise of hope only to be let down all too soon. When I started writing my blog I felt I was ready for whatever came my way, ready to pick up all hitchhikers on the dating road trip. Has dating now jaded me? Am I now purposely passing by hitchhikers in every which direction? Perhaps the pickings have become slimmer, or I've just become a slimmer pickier person. In any case since I've been feeling less optimistic than usual my friend Mike has encouraged me to write this blog, so I'm dedicating this to him.
Even though I'm not the biggest fan of Jewish Singles events, I was invited to one that actually looked like a good Datist time. A St.Patrick's March Madness house party/Shabbas dinner, needless to say, and no pun intended, very very unorthodox. Okay I was down, "to the Datist Mobile!"
I wear a cute black dress, my red pea coat, I feel a little too dressed up for the occasion. I arrive at this mansion of a house in Huntington Beach, my heart is pounding, why am I feeling so nervous? I walk in, put down the bottle of wine I have brought on the counter. I scan the scene, I feel like Robocop, filtering my surroundings, already spotting the men I find attractive. In the process of my scan, to my surprise I spot Jonathan, who was the star of my "Savor and Stroll" blog maybe 8 months ago. I give him a quick wave, as I grab a beer from the kitchen. I'm enthralled with this mansion, it's absolutely stunning, 3 stories, a pool as well as a gazebo in the backyard. I immediately decide I need to get into whatever work the owner of the house seems to have accomplished.
I get acquainted with my surroundings, make premature rounds, and then decide to take a trip to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror I apply a fresh coat of lip gloss and make a reassessment of the mission I'm going on tonight. I finish up and walk out as my friend Susanne suddenly steps in ready to introduce me to Peter, my now known mission for the night.
Peter is cute, very tall, a thin frame, dark hair bright blue eyes and the scar under his chin makes him look just rugged enough to be dangerous. He's actually Susanne's cousin, her Russian cousin, and she's definitely pushing him on me. Susanne is officially my new best friend and wing woman at this party. She's encouraging me to be less Robocop-ish, more comfortable in my skin, and of course the few shots of Vodka I just took with her, doesn't hurt either.
I partake in the festivities, play beer pong with Jonathan as my partner. Despite my intoxicated state, I'm a big contributer to our game, we're winning. I shoot my ping pong ball into the opposing teams last cup standing, and..... I score! I go bask in my glory with Peter, able to flirt with ease. My now new found confidence allowing the Datist mobile to slow down, ready to do a pick up.
The rest of the night feels like a blur, we end up kissing in a bedroom, we're all over each other. At this point I know I'm feeling hazy, yet I still have enough common sense to know where I don't want to this date to go. I tell him I'm not thinking clearly and I should go home, like clockwork he pulls himself away. The change in his demeanor is not subtle, he decides to give me the silent treatment now. I try talking to him some more, ease the awkwardness I've now created. It doesn't work as I'm pretty sure Peter thinks I'm now officially a waste of his time. I'm thinking I probably shouldn't have wasted his time in the first place if this was all he was expecting. Why can't "just" talking and flirting over a few drinks not suffice for the night? Why do men just assume we're gonna go "there?" I need to adjust the signals I'm giving out apparently, a lower setting is needed.
I also take into account that trying to communicate on a deeper level doesn't work when drinking an alcoholic beverage. I think I may have missed the Surgeon General's quote in small print clearly on the label, "WARNING: When drinking an alcoholic beverage do not attempt to have a deep conversation with someone of the opposite sex." That Surgeon General seems like a smart guy, wonder if he has any more helpful dating tips for me. A proper Surgeon General's label would probably do my own guidelines some good.
After yet another Datist escapade, I know I must not let this discourage me. I just need to find new opportunities to bounce back, to not let my funk have too much of its way with me. On a brighter note the Jewish drunken holiday of Purim will be upon us soon. For those who don't know, Purim is a holiday where costumes and alcohol are abundant, in other words, an extremely liqueured up version of Halloween. I'm thinking the Little Red Riding Hood costume needs to be taken out of the closet and dusted off, I sense it's feeling just as restless as me.
“A hard fall means a high bounce... if you're made of the right material.”
~Author Unknown
your blogs are very good, you should try to publish some books about dating. there's a site called tumblr.com too that you could join and put up some of these. People would be happy to read this.
ReplyDeleteThank you Dexter! I'll try that, I think I'll try to publish eventually as well =)
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