As many of you know, my re-entry into the dating world gives new meaning to the word ” under-whelming.” I know you know how I’ve ranted and raved about why I hate all those dating services, posting a few notes here and there on Twitter and on Facebook. Real life attempts, almost as dire as the cyber ones, produced little results – make that no results. And those close personal friends that impatiently listened to every hope, fear, complaint, and excuse — those saints among them – listened and listened until they just said “Enough!” or suddenly moved away and changed ALL their numbers.
I even started this serious blog space so that I could recount my innermost feelings and shed light upon my life, in general, and the dating world, in particular, from the perspective of a perfectly normal woman floundering in post-middle age. Afterall, a blog can’t sigh, or give terrible advice, roll it’s eyes, or change it’s existence to avoid me. A blog would give this would-be-serious writer a place to – well – get serious.
But even this hasn’t helped (you may have caught the fact that my last posting was May) as I can’t seem to force myself to go public with what has always been my journaling outlet – my world eeked out in spare minutes here and there. Filling countless journal pages with my rantings and thoughts consumes a few minutes of each day, but
Thursday, November 5, 2009, I went on an actual date – my first actual date since 1969. Forty years. That’s a long time – a lifetime it seems. This milestone screams blogworthy for sure, right?
Somedays it often feels like only 10 or 20 years ago that I dolled myself up, slipped into one of my cutest outfits, skipped down the stairs, and sauntered off with the man of my dreams. Suffice to say, dolled, slipped, skipped and sauntered are not the action verbs to describe my getting ready for this first date – which by the way, was to meet for drinks. Now, I know there are those cynics out there who wouldn’t count this as a “date” date, but it’s close enough for me. The first two men I had serious contacts with on Match didn’t materialize into actual “date” dates so a lot was riding on this one. Well, one never returned from the UK—honestly, some men will do anything not to show up. The other one, my practice match as I like to refer to it, came over but we didn’t go “out” out so that didn’t technically count. I’m not up on sports that much, but even I know that strike three means you’re out . So if anyone asks, I went on a “date” date, OK? Number three had to be the charm.
He emailed me at 10:43 am which came via text message (I just love technology)— “hey there taylor – i am in dc this afternoon. want to catch a drink?” Sounded like date asking to me – more later. Much later. . .