Today, I got digitally down. No, that doesn't mean I showed my breasts on Chat Roulette for a techie to pick off the G4 network; I joined match.com.
Yes, I may very well be like the girls in the commercials, giggling with some WASP-y type male in a cozy booth at a local steak joint. However, there is a greater cause to this new digital frontier.
First and foremost, it's a digital world and I am a digital girl. I diagnose myself, or convince myself I have the HIV, on webMD. I lord over a late model Dell laptop 8 hours a day at work. The premise of approximately 68 percent of my convos is "I saw on Facebook" or "did you see on Facebook." However, when the conversation, as it so frequently does as I get older, sways to online dating, my bottom line is "I'm not ready for it." Well, ready or not men of Southeast Michigan, and me, here I am.
I'm here to date. Here to drink coffee more than I ever would before, here to accidentally slip and share with a potential suitor that, yes, I have read "American Psycho" twice and it's in my Top 5 of favorite movies, here to closet my occasional delight in a cigarette and here to share my experience with my beloved friends, or people who, *fingers crossed*, look at my Facebook profile and don't even know me.
My dad always told me the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting the same results. Yet, I'm pretty sure he didn't mean my approach to meeting a man. It was more in regards to my inability to grasp the Pythagorean Theorem or not being the ultimate softball player (I'm really ok that the latter didn't work out).
At this point in my life, why not see what this online dating thing is about? It's better than trying it on my own and going out with someone who says "I'm almost in my mid-thirties" (read 39) and would rather see Peter Gabriel naked, while jamming on their guitars, than me.
Oh, and I'm doing it cause Meg, a dear friend from work, is "making" me. And, as our office instant messenger chats reveal, I need a co-signer. Meg, you are my co-signer in this endeavor and the five of you still reading this...you will see her analysis in future posts. Furthermore, her dear friend Holly conceived the name for this blog.
So at the gates of Heaven, I'll just say "Meg Made Me Do It."
Finally, there are ground rules. I mean, c'mon, it's that or I'll be out with guys who keep heads in their freezer. They are as follows:
1. Must.say.yes.to.everyone (except men south of 8 mile and east of Middlebelt, that is my caveat)
2. Two email correspondences warrant a coffee invite on my behalf. I'm hoping this part doesn't happen much. Coffee turns me into Whitney Houston during her marriage to Bobbie Brown. "I don't buy crack, crack is cheap." "Where are these receipts?"
3. The blog will NOT be a topic of convo on any date.
4. This won't be like "How to Lose a Guys in 10 Days." So, no, I won't be doing it in the bathroom with Matthew Mcconaughey after beating him in Bullsh*t.
To part with...please find my first message to a fellow tailgate enthusiast in Plymouth. Who apparently dances like David Hassellhoff. His dating headline is "Have we met at the Grocery store." If that's Taco Bell, then, yes, yes we have.
Did you see the Roast of Hoff?
If you didn't, my heart breaks for you. However, knowing Comedy Central, you'll be able to catch it again.
Maybe we met at the grocery store. I was probably perplexed as to what kind of hummus to buy. In any event, you profile is intriguing. If you mine is dually intriguing, please feel free to flatter me :)
Look forward to chatting soon.
I don't know if I'm supposed to put my real name, but my username is kath1226.