Just how many blind dates am I going to have to go on before I find something? Seriously. I’ve been back in the US for a bit more than three months. In that time I’ve gone on absolutely no fewer than a half dozen “blind” dates (in this world of e-mail and text messaging, I had at least communicated in some way with all of them) and absolutely all of them have been complete failures. Of the half dozen that absolutely spring to mind (there have been more, but I think I’ve blanked them out or something), I only met one of the girls again and that’s because we’ve acknowledged that we’d be better friends than lovers.
Today was the most recent. Seemed like a very sweet girl, and we’ve been exchanging e-mails for a while now. Lots of stuff in common including being pretty seriously fucked over by our respective long-term ex’s and a mutual love for the theatre. So I agree to meet the girl at 12:15 at a restaurant in Phoenix. At 11 I get a text that she’s running way late, can we make it 1:30 instead. Sure, no prob. Get there at 1:30 and wait. And wait. Text her. She’s stuck in traffic but is only five minutes away. Wait some more. Text again. She’s apparently super nervous and is sitting in her car in a parking lot afraid to come in. This I admit is endearing except for the fact that it’s now 2:30 and I’m tired of waiting. So I go meet her at her car. I coax her out of it, we get in the restaurant and she starts talking . . .
. . . and never stops.
I can talk a lot if given a subject that I love. But we’re talking 3 and a half hours here and I’m not at all exagerating. I had to finally cut her off, kiss her on the cheek, and say how nice it was to meet her before going to get in my car.
Again, I could count this as endearing but while sitting there trying to continue to nod and smile, I realized that this isn’t just the nervous chatter that some people do when in situations they’re not comfortable with. This is the never-ending stream of information about the most worthless aspects of the lives of the terminally self-absorbed. It’s really a shame too, because she’s a very cute girl, we DO have a lot in common, and all could have possibly gone well . . . if she cared about anything outside of her own life.
Ugh. This is upsetting. Mostly because I’m starting to get the totally-unfair-but-still-compelling-feeling that if a girl doesn’t have a boyfriend when she gets to be my age (26) then there’s every possibility that there’s something bloody wrong with her!
So what does that say about me?