Soooo remember how I never wanted to date again because my sad heart can't take it anymore? Well, somehow I'm dating again. It was an accident! I was perusing okcupid, I guess to guage my readiness to date again, because I really do want to meet someone at some point. But I had planned on going to therapy and maybe working out some of my man issues first. Some guys messaged me, and one of them caught my eye...and my sense of humor. I was having fun just emailing but then he wanted to call me. And then he wanted to go out with me. I felt like it would have been rude to lure this guy in and then just disappear, so I agreed to meet him. I figured we wouldn't have chemistry and would just be friends, which would greatly benefit me as he has some somewhat famous connections (and I desperately need friends). We went to a wine bar and were going to order some appetizers, but before we knew it hours had passed and they were closing. I found myself in the Carl's Jr. drive-thru WAY too late on a work night thinking, "What the heck did I just get myself into?"
We shall call him Youtube. I knew I liked him when he told me he signs his receipts with pictures of penises. I don't know why he likes me because I've been a dorky, ditzy, broken out hot mess lately, but it seems like he likes me. We went out again and stayed up till 5:00AM...and my pants never came off :) Good thing I enjoyed it because when I tried to leave my car had been towed. He took me to pick it up and it had two more parking tickets on the windshield. FML. Though I handled it quite gracefully, I must say. And I can probably get through a couple more dates without offering to pay after he watched me shell out that cash ;)
I don't really know what my strategy is this time around. I've tried suppressing my hopes for the future and ended up getting hurt anyway. Right now I'm tempted to just let myself have that fairy tale fantasy because either way it's fun to daydream. So I guess my strategy is enjoy it while it lasts...and then stalk his videos after it's over.
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