The time is WAY late, or WAY early, depending of course, on your view of things. It seems that I like to write way past the tolling of the witching hour. -shrug- However, I find myself unable to drift away into the never never land that slumber offers. I’ve done some reading, yes, I am still on Jane Eyre, and yes it is a fantastic novel. I’ve done some Facebooking, and some Pinning via Pinterest, and here I am, now having a bit of a 90’s flashback listening to Everything But the Girl. These two really are quite fantastic if you’re into that trippy, trip hop, electronic sort of thing; which I am. I realise that I am digressing, but I am trying to aptly collect my thoughts.
Well, here goes. I am single. I am so single that Bush II was in office the last time I was in a relationship, and let me just ignore the randy little sex monster in the back of my head screaming for attention. -sigh- Oh boy is that little monster screaming!! In the outset of my singleton awareness, I was happy as a lark, that is, happy as a lark can be with a broken heart, an empty bank account, an ailing parent, and well.. let me just suffice things to say that when I became single, life wasn’t that great both globally, or personally in my own little zip code. At the time, I lived in Pennsylvania. I’d moved up there when I was 24, and very soon after I’d met a boy whom I thought was THE boy, and set out to live happily ever after. Fast forward five years, and many mistakes later, we broke up, and I moved back home, to Tennessee.
At the time, like I said, my mom was sick, and I threw myself, with some vigor, into my work and into the caring for of her. I pushed the hurt and lonesome, the questions and thoughts, the guilt and recriminations..the stuff people ponder after significant relationships end, out of my mind. I effectively dug a hole into the sand, and thrust my head in, not to come up until four years later. I was doing my best impression of an ostrich, unfortunately, I discovered I wasn’t nearly tall enough, nor the sand deep enough.
So, fast forward another couple of years, to 2011, my circumstances, for better or worse, have somewhat changed. Amanda is ready to get back into the wide, wild world of dating, but where oh where does one begin? I don’t really drink, and I am so not into the clubby scene. Having some sweaty fellow grinding against my nether bits does not a good time make, well, with loud, pulsating music and copious amounts of other people around anyway. I haven’t the foggiest notion of where to begin my search for love. I am, however, wearing my blue bonnet, carrying my blue handbag, with the rolling pin tucked neatly inside… yes, I am doing my best impression of Prissy Hen. “It’s AH MAN!!” and all!
In my search, or rather in my haste, I have gone as far as doing the online dating thing. I have a couple of observations about that front.
1. There are some creepy people out there.
2. There are some ignorant, uneducated, fools too!
3. I haven’t had the least bit of success. 😦
As I hang my head in shame, I have wondered if perhaps it is me, or if it is them, or even a mix of both. Perhaps my standards are too high? Surely it isn’t bad form for a lady to want her fellow to understand the differences between “they’re,” “there,” & “their.”; to have a steady job, to be articulate, witty, outgoing, enjoy music, film etc. I’m not saying that you absolutely must possess a set of 12 pack anything, a PHd, or make eleventy-bajillion dollars a year. After all, I don’t have any of those things. I am even willing to over look the fact that some of these guys are going to be Republicans, and that the Southern mentality is going to be afoot. After all, I live in the south, it is kind of what it is.
What I don’t understand is the guy who thinks he is being complimentary, but is just all sorts of insulting. Case in point:
I get a message a few days ago:
“i love deceptively intelligent women im very surprised you dont have children by now.”
Uhhh well, what does one thing have to do with the other? So, I cautiously ask this, and anxiously await his reply. All the while I notice and love the irony of the bad grammar.
“…your getting pretty up there.ive read that intelligent and generally successful people are waiting longer while the dumb keep on breeding and generally not being productive.i always wanted a large family just never happened.”
I read this, and pause. Did this bloke just insult my age, and question the verity of my uterus and its reproductive rights? He sure did. How does a guy walk up to a girl, virtually of course, and say, “Hey baby, you’re only as important as what occupies your uterus, and oh wait, there is a time stamp on that bitch! You’re gettin’ old girl, better chain you up to the bed, and let you out to wash the dishes and cook the food!”
I must have scared the poor guy off, as he tucked tail and ran in the other direction when I called him out on his insulting tactics. I went on with the rest of my day, and that night, I lay in bed playing the big spoon to my stuffed frog (don’t judge me haha!) and I thought about the decisions I have made that have gotten me to where I am today. The fact is, I don’t have kids, or a prospective husband in sight. I AM also getting “old,” at age 35 the chances of a woman successfully conceiving a child go down and the chances for birth defects go up. I have about two years until I am 35. I want kids, of course, but if it doesn’t happen, I am ok with that too. There are so many other children in this world that can use a good home, so I am not tied to my reproductive years.
One thing is for sure, I am looking for love. Or, as Buckwheat would say, “Wookin pa’ nub” …in all the wrong places it seems.