“What part of town do you live in?”
A typically casual question that can have dire consequences in the online dating world. When asked upfront it’s the perfect meter to measure whether or not you really want to keep chatting with your “match”. But when you feel like you’ve really hit it off with said match and then they reveal they live in… South Austin… your gage automatically droops from full tank of gas to “boner down” and empty. Oh. You’re one of “those” people. I shouldn’t have wasted my time.
And it’s not that living in South Austin is bad. South Austin is cool, actually, but at this point he uses it as a front. He can mask who he really is for a while and make you think he’s “established” but still “hip.” Too established, for say the “up and coming” east side, but not stuck up enough (rich enough) to live anywhere West of Mopac.
Guess what. It’s not impressive. And yeah, I do judge dates based on what part of town they live in. But I know I’m not going to like a guy who takes me to Rio Rita on our first any date. I’m sure our goals and personality just don’t match up. No matter what your penis is telling you. When I find out where you live I know if I want to sit across from you and listen to your story about your walk from the Monarch to Pure to Whole Foods and back to the Monarch each day… or if I don’t want to listen to you drone on about how South Austin is becoming more accessible to pedestrians by the day and you want to start a hemp foundation because, “hemp is our future, man.”
Let’s be honest, all I really want is for you to buy me dinner and not look at me while I eat. In fact, can we just sit at two different tables? With our backs to one another… so I can stuff my face with salad without being afraid I have asparagus stuck in my teeth (like I did during the worst New Years Eve of all time… don’t worry, we’ll get there).
Everyone has ridiculous dating stories and mine are no exception (really, they’re unexceptional – she dated, she fucked, weird shit happened, men are dicks, men have dicks, men like dicks. End. Of. Story) But after hearing my stories a friend of mine told me I needed to start a blog (because it’s 2006 not 2016). Guess what, I still think its 2006 and I have a blog, so I figured I’d just post it on here.
This is the same friend, btw, who told me I make “poor life choices.” So before we delve into the disastrous joke that was my life for the past seven and a half months, a quick disclaimer: During this time, my life was pretty great. I was strong, healthy, super-hot, had a job I loved and a very comfortable life. Even now I haven’t actually made any poor choices in life. As far as my decisions go, compared to most, I’d say I’m coming out on top. It’s just… according to a former “sex friend” I was in my shadow personality. My back was against the wall and the person I was at that time wasn’t really who I am. So maybe I hadn’t been making the best choices when it comes to this crazy big deal ya’ll call love.
Am I making sense? No? Let me start from the beginning…