A few months ago, over chips and queso, and in the middle of me having an unexpected melt down, one of my closest friends suggested that maybe I was ready to date. Nothing serious, just find a casual situation that includes dinners and the occasional movie or event. No commitment, no infringement on the independence that I am learning to explore and embrace.
I laughed it off.
No. No, thanks. I'm good with things the way they are. Well...mostly. (ha ha, insert nervous laugh here) Furthermore, I am in no way ready. I many not ever be. (more odd laughter here) Nope. Not for me. Thanks.
But...
Later on that night. Alone in my living room. I began to seriously consider the suggestion. Facebook dating had popped up again and I do like dinner and movies. Curiosity won out and I started to mutter things like, "What could it hurt?" and "YOLO" and "Why not?"
I took a deep breath in and as I exhaled I clicked the button to select "Dating". Pretty much the same technique I use when firing a rifle. I think somehow I knew the results might be just as destructive.
First thing to do was choose a profile picture. Okay. Let's see. Not one that has any sort of memory related to it. No double chin pics, no cleavage pics, nothing that someone could look at and figure out where I live, no bad hair days. I finally settled on one I like, and one that my mom says, "you're doing that smirky thing with your mouth" Step one was harder than I expected.
Now what?
Answer some survey type questions. Ok, I can do that.
First question - How tall are you? 5'4" Easy enough... I remembered Derek was 6'2". Perfect. My head fit just right on his chest in a good hug and just right on his shoulder while watching TV or drifting off to sleep...Whoa, whoa nope. I stopped myself. I realized I should not let my mind drift like that. I also noticed that temperature in my living room had begun to climb and the neck of my t-shirt had gotten smaller.
Next question - education level. Bachelor's Degree. Wow. I realized that not just the neck of my shirt was smaller the whole shirt was suddenly tight and I was very aware of my breathing. I felt my stomach do a little flip.
Anxiety began to creep up my spine and then suddenly crashed over my head like a wave. "I cant do this!" I yelped, hit "exit", and tossed my phone to the other end of the couch like a hot potato. I stood up and paced some. Nope. This was a stupid idea. No way in hell am I ready for this and why is it so freakin' hot in here?!?
By this time I am full on talking to myself and the dog is just staring. I walked back and forth. I told myself to take a deep breath. I debated wine and then decided to make a glass of tea. Breathe, dammit! Is this a panic attack? So, what? Now you're going to have a panic attack worrying about whether or not you are having a panic attack? Get it together, Griffith!
A little more pacing, and I was able to breath almost normal. I took my tea and headed back to my spot on the couch. I picked up my phone and I had 12 Facebook notifications. Humph? No, now 13. What? 14. Oh my gosh!!!! Canceling out had done NOTHING and my unfinished profile was OUT THERE and being judged by strangers. OMG!! What if they aren't all strangers?!! What if it's someone I know? The calmness I had almost just reached was completely gone and the question of whether or not I was in panic mode was answered!
Make it stop!
In my out-of-control state of mind, I absolutely could not figure out how to turn it off. I called my friend and begged/cried her to help me. She was looking for the link to unsubscribe. I was looking. The little notification count just kept climbing. FINALLY! She figured it out and I removed myself from further scrutiny and craziness. I apologized for using some ugly words. She began to laugh. I began to laugh. (Aren't good friends the best-est?) I felt silly, but I also felt rescued. I thanked her and we hung up.
Here is what I learned:
1. I am clearly not ready...yet
2. Facebook can find a match for you based solely on the fact that you are 5'4" and have been to college. Seems legit. Totally.
3. Apparently 80% the men who are into short college grads are all in their 60s, live in San Antonio, and do not speak English.
4. The other 20% will need help with their math homework and are looking forward to moving out of their Mom's garage apartment. Also, they play a lot of video games that I've never heard of.
5. Laughing at myself and hoping others will too is how I deal with most of things I get myself into and I am totally good with that.
