When you get to be my age dating is more complicated than ordering a half decaf double tall one pump sugar free vanilla one pump sugar free hazelnut half nonfat half soy extra hot no foam latte.
And that was an easy order.
Dating becomes this dance, a game of cat and mouse, and ever unstable, one faulty step can kick down the sandcastle you've worked so lovingly to create.
People don't know what they want.
They have baggage and tattered pasts and issues they projectile vomit onto you that make you want to scream out, I'M NOT HER!
But we all do it.
We're all guilty of the same psychosis.
We just handle it differently.
And I stand alone as my own Queen of Crazy.
I rock the kind of crazy that drives otherwise stable men to nearly lose their minds.
It's a gift. And I use it recklessly.
I miss the days of homeroom and hallways where dating meant a boy left a note in your locker and you held hands and didn't worry about waiting for him to call.
Things were simpler then.
Except of course for me.
I dated the guy who caused a huge melodrama with me because as prom was ending I left his side to say hi to my favorite theatre teacher and when I went back to him he sighed his most dejected sigh, I can't believe you LEFT me.
I spent the whole night trying to console him and eventually we got into a huge fight because he claimed he loved me more than I loved him because I needed my friends more than he needed his.
But that's love when you're 18, for ya.
Maybe I don't want to be back in those kinds of romances.
No, what I want is for people to be genuine.
I want when a guy likes me for him to take a risk and show me.
I want him to be scared shitless by how drawn he is to me but allow his desire to override his fear.
I want him to open up about his past and trust I'll like him anyway.
I want flowers and letters.
I want when I tell him I wanna punch him in the face for him to kiss mine.
And I want the friends in my life to trust that I'm strong enough to take care of myself.
Yes, maybe the idiot made me cry.
And maybe I was also drunk and on my period. A frightful combination.
Maybe he's confusing and inconsistent and selfish and unable to care for me in the way I deserve.
And maybe I'm just as selfish as he is and equally interested in what I get from this encounter.
Maybe it's nice having someone to cry over that's not Prince Charming.
Maybe it's nice the times I actually see him feeling how he sees Aphrodite in my eyes.
Maybe I just really like kissing him.
Maybe that's worth the moods and being a low priority and him pushing me away when I get too close.
Maybe not.
But while there are literally thousands of other men I should be with instead I am seventy two percent sure I love him.
Or at least, like him.
Most days.
It's not every day you find someone who makes you as crazy as you make them.
And those kinds of wonderful*horrible*surprising*delighting*confusing connections are worth a little extra patience.
At least they are in my book.
And this is my story after all, is it not?
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