I had every intention of going to the grocery store and cooking for the entire week. I’m surrounded by no less than 10 cookbooks; I even went so far as to map out what I’ll making for which meals. Then I realized I have to come up with something to blog about, despite the fact that I’ve been on zero bad dates since Binary entered the picture.
So now, instead of fresh produce and homemade meals, I have wine, my computer, and slightly elevated anxiety levels. Dafuq am I going to write about when shit’s going well? There has been a whole bunch of adorable nerdiness, we’ve met each other’s cats (shut up, Paul), and cooked for each other – and we know that’s a thing for me. My friends are on board and have only had to talk me down from the occasional ledge. All ledge-related activity has solely come about when I’ve put myself in an even slightly vulnerable position. Oh good, I can write about my neuroses. That’ll bring all the boys to the yard.
Join me out here on the ledge for a minute anyway, if you will. You’ve been out with someone a few times. You think they’re pretty swell. Do you A) tell them as much and risk showing your hand, or B) play it cool and participate in a mutual game to see who has the most chill? In the Toronto dating scene, B seems to be the most popular option, which makes absolutely no fucking sense. Why are we pretending we’re cool cucumbers (especially sweaty pickles such as myself) around people we’re interested in? Ennui is not high on my list of things I’m looking for in a man, and if you want coy and aloof I am most definitely not your girl. A new friend (sidebar: It is so refreshing connecting with a total stranger enough to say, ‘Let’s be friends,’ as adults) told me this is not the case in Europe. If you like someone, you don’t wait three days to see when you can get together again. You just fucking go for it. Good lord, why don’t more people do that here? Who are we trying to impress? Earlier this week, another friend and I were discussing the fact that we are too old to bother pretending to have chill. If I like someone, I’m just going to put it out there.
So I did. And will continue to do.
(You knew there was a but.)
Every time I do, I get a bit uncomfortable. It’s like I have some sort of dating PTSD from so many non-committal, too cool for school, blasé assholes. During one tiny worry spiral (and for the record, they’ve all been pretty minor), another friend told me to just have faith in this. She might as well have asked me to believe in the Tooth Fairy. But she was right. So maybe, just maybe, if I can’t muster up enough faith in myself (because that’s really what it boils down to, right?), I can find a way to believe in other people. And faith isn’t always a bad thing – I hear the faithful get wine sometimes.