Single and...loving it?

Last week I decided to start dating again.

It’s been about five months since doomsday (aka "break-up"), and I’m starting to feel the need to get off Facebook and out of my house (aka "get laid").

Being that the last three and a half years were spent in a relationship (albeit a turbulent one), I’ve been hesitant to jump back into the shark-infested sea of singledom.

Dating is exactly the reason I stayed in a relationship that wasn’t working: it sucks.

Case in point, I met a good-looking, successful stallion of a gent and decided to take him up on his offer for coffee. Btw, that’s what they do nowadays…have coffee, then if there’s a connection, you move to lunch. After lunch comes dinner. First of all, that is ridiculous. I remember the old days when you started with dinner, and if you hit it off then breakfast would soon follow. Now you must go on three first dates? I’m already confused and I haven’t even had the coffee date yet.

Let’s chat a bit about the torturous first date. If my memory serves me correctly, it goes something like this:

You start getting ready the day before by paying a complete stranger to spray every inch of your naked body with a freezing cold bronze mist. You do this so you can fool your admirer into thinking you have a natural, youthful glow. Let’s not forget that on top of the fact that this spray is freezing cold, you must then stand in front of a propeller-like fan while you wait for it to dry.

Now you’ve got to deal with those eyebrows. You simply cannot have your suitor staring at the two caterpillars above your eyes, (in some instances one caterpillar), so you lie on an uncomfortable bed while yet another stranger pours hot wax on your face and forcefully rips the hair out by the root.

So, what to wear? You obviously have to shop for something new, even though this person has never seen any of your myriads of outfits. You proceed to shop desperately for the most impeccable, out-of-this-world, superlative getup that arduously conjoins classy and slutty in just the right amounts.

Now it’s time for a manicure since your nails look like you’ve been cleaning toilets and making pottery for the last year. This takes up a considerable amount of time since you have to wait while they do each hand separately, then anxiously bask them under some strange ultraviolet lamp while you stare at a timer. What is up with that odd contraption anyway? As long as they make you sit there, I feel like my nails would’ve been dry regardless of the glowing fluorescent bulbs.

The day of your ridiculous rendezvous arrives. You now must do the following, in no particular order: starve, shower, shit, shave, floss, blow-dry, apply makeup (more than usual), and decide what kind of underwear you should slip on. This is a more daunting task than one could imagine since you want to don something somewhat sexy, just in case, but you don’t want to appear as if you were anticipating their seeing your skivvies, either. It takes lavish preparation to appear innocent.

Now the hour has finally arrived and you are picked up by your fellow. You immediately start analyzing the events that take place. Did he open your door for you? Is he funny? What kind of music is he listening to? Does he drive like an asshole? Is he on his cellphone the whole time or talking to you? Is he dumb?

The date proceeds to dinner and you order something with extreme caution since you can’t have anything that would leave you with bad breath, pepper in your teeth, or a gassy stomach. This excludes pretty much anything remotely appetizing, so you settle for some bland, boring dish that you don’t really eat much of anyway since you’re overly conscious of chewing and talking at the same time. Translation: the wine you’re drinking is going straight to your head (hopefully your teeth aren’t turning purple).

The end of the evening can go many different ways. If you aren’t into him, you can’t wait to get home, although once you do it is awkward if he goes in for the kiss. Do you do it anyway and then just not call him? Or do you politely refuse a kiss and look like a prude who just used him for a free meal? Did he even pay?

If you’re into him, then you have to deal with the whole “is he staying at my house and if he does is he going to spend the night or get out before daybreak” scenerio. I prefer to go to their house, that way I can easily slip out before the sun comes up so he’s left with the sweet memory of my sexiness, and not my makeup-smeared, ugly, cotton mouth, hungover self.

Then what? Do you like him enough to do this whole nightmare initiation all over again? Are you compatible? What kind of future could you have together? What does his penis look like?

Now I have even more at stake than your average gal because not only am I single, I’m a mother who also happens to own my own company. This means I am very busy and not interested in constantly being up someone’s butt (in more ways than one). I have to find someone who is okay with all of this, and also accepts the fact that I travel around promoting a sex pill that I invented with my ex-boyfriend.

Okay, I guess I’ve officially talked myself out of dating for now.

Happy Holidays!
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