That boy I’m dating said something that sparked a lot of hurt last weekend.
Yes, we’re still together. Yes we talked about it. Yes, I’m trying to be the bigger person and considering compromise and all that classy mumbo jumbo.
But for honesty’s sake, I’d like to make a confession.
It took me little more than seconds after he said it for me to decide ONLINE DATING SOUNDED LIKE A GREAT IDEA.
Now, okay. There are other factors at work here.
There was a time, about a year ago, when I told myself if something or other didn’t work out (I don’t even remember which imaginary relationship I was in at that point) that I was going to give online dating a serious try. This was, of course, before the new job, and the circle of friends my own age with their own circles of friends my own age that I could mix and mingle with and my shot at meeting somebody in real life was basically, as far as I could see anyway, non-existent.
Then I DID meet somebody who I went on a few dates with, although in the name of full disclosure here, I did first meet him online on 20SB. But that was different in my head because I wasn’t using 20SB as a dating service. No, really! I wasn’t!
Okay maybe I was.
That aside, it didn’t seem creepy because I was just hanging out at 20SB like it was an online local coffee shop. I’d met plenty of other people, girls and guys, because of 20SB. I got to kind of fool myself into thinking I found something extra special in an ordinary sort of place. I could flirt and there was no pressure. I knew, in most cases, it really wouldn’t go anywhere, and that if it did, it was because we both really wanted it to.
Not like a dating site where you go in with your main goal being to meet people in person.
And that didn’t work out, but then I met Andrew at a music conference in Nashville.
And that didn’t work out, but then I met Ryan at a coffee shop in town.
And that’s been working it’s way along ever since, and I guess that means I never really had to resort to online dating.
But part of me has still been curious and since I’ve suddenly been thrown back into the If Something Better Comes Along Feel Free To Take It Zone (or apparently we never left that zone?) I thought, hell. Whatever. Nothing will come of it anyway because it creeps me out SO. Let’s just do it to say I did.
Let me save you some trouble right now. Plenty Of Fish is full of creepers. It was my first choice because I knew it was free. Yeah. That’s where the poor people shop for relationships. Poor in every sense of the word. I deleted my profile the day after I created it.
Match.com was next because it really does have a pretty decent reputation. I decided to just create a profile without paying for anything… but you can’t talk to ANYBODY without paying for it! Nobody! Which is obviously how they make their money, but now my inbox is full of messages saying “So and so checked you out!” and “So and so winked at you!” and “So and so sent you a message! Sign in to read it! ….. AND PAY A MILLION DOLLARS.”
Or $30. Whatever.
So I have no idea if my potential suitors on Match.com are creepers and I suppose at this point its only $30 but when I’ve got a boy who sometimes says things that don’t make me happy but who I’m also totally sure isn’t Creepy McCreeperson, and I got him for free, well, I kinda wanna just take my chances.
I haven’t deleted that profile though.
And the last one?
No, I didn’t veer down the road and head for eHarmony. Oh no.
Let’s talk about Catholic Match.com.
Except for I shouldn’t say it with such implied disdain because it’s really not creepy-face at all. It’s cool because it’s more or less all Catholics and there are little surveys that show you pretty much how Catholic everybody is, so you can decide how Catholic you’d like to be together. The people around these parts seem like decent human beings and most of the guys are actually pretty cute and I’m not getting winked at by 40 year old men. There are problems, though. First of all, I can’t seem to find a way to set it up to only show me people in the Nashville area. I’m not moving to Idaho, Catholic Match, and don’t you think you can make me! Yeah, sure, Justin587693 seems like a lovely, God fearing man with a great career and killer blue eyes, but he lives on THE OTHER SIDE OF THE COUNTRY. No thank you, Catholic Match. No thank you. Second, once, again, I have to pay to actually communicate with this people.
Wait. Let me say that again.
I have to pay to communicate with other Catholics on Catholic Match.com.
Let’s think about this for a moment.
You’re telling these people how Catholic I am. I’ve more or less told you exactly which church I attend and roughly how often, and since we’re all Catholic and we presumably all go to church… well…
Don’t you think I could go throw my five dollars in the basket and meet a good looking dude there? One, who, I don’t know, lives in the same time zone as I do?
Not only that, but, while I understand that the church needs money to run itself, I can’t help but wonder where that money I would pay to Catholic Match.com would be going. If they had some sort of policy about sending a portion of your money to the church you attend, I can honestly say I’d be all in. But it doesn’t seem right to me to be all, “Catholic Catholic Catholic! Church Church Church! Gimme yo monies!” I mean, is that just me?
So, in conclusion, I got a text message this morning which I’ve more or less been ignoring partially because it wasn’t an important text message, partially because I’m no mood to banter, and partially because, while not generally a player of The Game, I’d really like to give him just a tiny taste of his own medicine. Annnnnd I’ve got about 40 emails stacked up from the day from people who think I’m pretty and date worthy.
I don’t even need to date them, you guys. I just need to know I’ve got the option.
Remember that formspring thing everyone is doing and I tried to implement and then abruptly ignored? Let’s try this again, shall we?
Anonymous question:
What would you do if you couldn’t sing?
That’s a weird question because it can be taken a few different ways. If I never could have sung? If I’d been tone deaf all of my life or my vocal cords just never cooperated with me? I’d probably have been a piano player, honestly. For whatever reason, singing was the thing that I worked hard at without ever feeling like I was working. Piano was more of a chore for me, not because I didn’t like it but because my parents were paying for lessons that yes, I requested, but was young and had no idea what they would mean (lots of work after school before you were allowed to play with your friends down the street! What?!) Singing was something I tried really, really hard at, but of my own accord. And when I asked for lessons, I was old enough to know what that meant and I went into it willingly anyway. But if I never could have? I’d probably have just stuck with piano and worked a lot harder at that. Because music has always been very interesting, very challenging, and very important to me.
If for some reason my life had been, up to this point, the way it’s always been, and then something crazy happened and I couldn’t sing anymore? I imagine I’d keep writing, maybe get myself more into piano, maybe find another outlet. And I’d turn up my car stereo so loud that I couldn’t hear myself and sing anyway, pretending I still could. Half the fun of singing is getting weird looks from people when you’re stopped dead in traffic on the highway because you’re dramatically reenacting the scenes from Reba’s Fancy video in your head while trying your very best to convey meaning with your eyes, all while sitting behind your steering wheel, forgetting just where you are. (What? I have to make traffic bearable somehow!)
Sometimes, after a night like last night, all you need is faith and trust.
Oh, and one more thing:
Pixie dust.
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See, the thing is that I don’t feel like I can be honest here. I haven’t really written much worth reading, worth anybody saying, “Hooray for her! She’s not afraid to let it all out and be who she is, no matter who’s reading!” in a very, very, VERY long time.
But the real problem isn’t that I don’t feel like I can be honest here. The real problem is that I haven’t felt much that was worth being honest about.
So I’m throwing that feeling out. That feeling that says my life is supposed to be perfect and if it’s not I’m supposed to keep it from everyone. I don’t care if I don’t know you. I don’t care if you’re my aunt. This is MY blog and I’ll write what I want.
And the truth is that after four months at a job that I’m still completely thankful for, today I had a silly, messy breakdown, which left the guy I’m dating who I’m still not really calling my boyfriend even though we’ve only been seeing each other for, um, EIGHT months, let’s not talk about THAT right now, in a small fit of nervous laughter because when someone who is usually pretty chipper and happy answers the phone trying to suck up her tears and not doing a wonderful job of it, well, I suppose that could throw a person off.
I’ve been trying for days, maybe even weeks, to figure out why I don’t feel anything. For him or for… anything. He’s been very completely sweet to me lately and all I can think about is whether or not I should break up with him. And that’s what I’ve been focusing on because, well, let’s face it. This is a relationship, unofficial and undefined though it may be, and that means I have absolutely NO effing idea what’s going on. So I’ve been worrying and fretting and not calling, but he hasn’t been calling either, and I figure maybe since he isn’t even REALLY my boyfriend, maybe we can sort of just let things fizzle out and it doesn’t have to be anybody’s fault and I can call him in a month and be all, “Long time, no see, stranger! How ’bout we try being friends?”
But then I sat on my couch this morning, all morning and into the afternoon, and oh my god is it really 7:30 right now? And I watched movie after movie…. new DVDs of old movies I’ve always loved. My Fair Lady, with every other song something I sang in high school or wished I could sing on stage or stood in front of a mirror with a blanket wrapped around my waste like a poofy ball gown… and The Wizard of Oz, a movie so full of imagination and singing and color and everything I used to be.
Four months ago.
And I started thinking about the last time I pulled out my songwriting notebook, or really played my piano or touched that ukulele I was in such a hurry to get when I finally got that new job that would allow me to have these things that were supposed to make my way as a songwriter or a singer or a musician easier. And then I remembered every time in the past four months somebody has asked me when I was playing next, where I was playing, when I’d last written a song was. And I remember being irritated that they’d assume I’d be doing such frivolous things.
Who did I turn into?
I drove by the CMA festival twice this week because I work right next to the stadium at which it’s held. I didn’t buy tickets. I wasn’t interested. But the longer I had to stare at it and the more and more music I heard wafting all over downtown from this spot and that, I because angry with myself. This is who I used to be. This person who wanted to meet these people and hear their music and be inspired by it and strive for something.
What am I striving for?
I don’t know who I am.
He told me a long time ago that one of the best things about me was my sunny outlook on life. That with the exception of maybe one other person he’s ever known, I am the only person he’s known who is positive, optimistic, believes the best in people, believes in the future, isn’t afraid to dream.
That’s who I used to be. I know that girl. The girl sitting here writing this?
I don’t know.
Was I wrong to come here? Was I letting the twelve year old inside me make my decisions for me? If I didn’t, who was going to? If those dreams aren’t still my dreams, then I don’t know what dreams to have. If that’s not who I want to be, then I don’t know who I want to be.
This isn’t a quarter life crisis.
This is my dying a little inside.
I don’t know how to wake myself up. I’m too stubborn, and too smart to let go of what I currently have.
At least I feel enough now to know that letting Ryan fade away would be a pretty stupid thing to do. Anybody who’s willing to listen to me cry over this?
Well, that boy isn’t perfect. He’s far from it. But is there a such thing as perfect? I still have absolutely no effing clue what I’m doing, I don’t know what I want, I don’t know where I’m going…
But for right now, that job and that boy are mine. I’m not letting go until I find a better reason to than “I don’t know.”
i will sail my vessel
'til the river runs dry
like a bird upon the wind
these waters are my sky
i'll never
reach my destination
if i never try
so i will sail my vessel
'til the river runs dry...
--"the river," garth brooks
