Fact: I’m 37. I am single. The longest relationship I ever had ended in divorce.
So, the next statement should come as no surprise: I suck at dating.
Actually, that statement does not cover how monumentally bad I am at forming relationships with women.
Over the years I have found every way possible to ruin a possibly good situation. Being too distant. Trying too hard. Finding myself trying to date two women at once. Shrinking away in fear. Giving every indication that I’m not interested when I really am. Being a colossal fuck-wit when it comes to planning dates. Attracting and being attracted to some absolute bat-shit crazy women.
I think too much. Or do I not think enough? Crap, I don’t know. I’m indecisive.
No goats. I have not employed goats to implode a relationship, yet.
Why do I mention goats? Well, because I’m dating a woman who I met on Tinder, who also happens to be an organizer of a float for a local Bockfest celebration parade. For some reason, Bockfest involves goats. Hence, me somehow employing goats to screw something that might not even be there up.
Did I say I think too much?
Anyway, the Tinder match is extremely sociable. She’s like organizing a pop-up art gallery, along with organizing the Bockfest float. She got tickets to see a real, live theater production that I’m invited to attend with her and EIGHT OF HER FRIENDS.
I already attended this intimate launch party for the pop up gallery hosted at someone’s apartment. That’s someone’s house, I realized as I showed up to the address. I nearly wet myself out of fear when the door opened and it sunk in I knew no one there, except this women who I went on a couple of dates with.
New people and social situations make me nervous.
I clutched a glass, hovered near the snacks table, and eventually made conversation with a couple of people who looked vaguely familiar. Runners. Thank God for runners. There were two women who I had met from the giant running group I am a part of.
We had something in common and I was able to netter on about a topic I feel I have a certain amount of expertise on.
This led to speaking with some guy who writes poetry and has a degree in film and engineering and is about 9 billion times more intelligent than I am. But he was OK. We joked about shitty neighborhoods to not move your kids to. I don’t have kids. He does. Three.
I also got the feeling a lot of the creative, entrepreneurs at the party were mingling for work prospects. At the end of the night, I felt significantly outclassed, but managed to not make too big a fool out of myself. And before I knew it, I was at this nice little restaurant with the Tinder date for more one-on-one conversation and food.
For a moment, life was good. Then the invite to the theater came and a whole new round of meeting people, and a general question of am I really dating and hanging out with a woman. Does she really want to? Do I really want to?
And more thinking. Lots more thinking. And I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about or so concerned about.
I’m having fun. I’m going to see cultural stuff. I might do something other than watch and re-watch Game of Thrones every evening alone at home.
It needs to not be sub-zero outside on an evening I am not working, so I can clean my head with a good run.
And before some of you start praying for me, or seeking the nearest mental hospital to have me committed, I am employing hyperbole. Mostly.