I’m Just Sayin’…. It’s Not That Hard To Get A Date (Especially If Only One Half Of You Knows It Is)

I’m not gonna lie! I was very tempted this week again to write about my favorite subject (other than me), namely “George Michael”, and share with you the dazzling PR campaign, I have ingeniously concocted in my head dubbed “why I need to meet George Michael and I need to meet him on Oprah…NOW.”

But let’s be real I know most of us not only are inflicted with attention span deficit disorder but also, and sadly, have absolutely zero level of patience to take the time read – much less read about another one of my GM propagandas.

What can I say? It’s the tragic plague of our 21st century. Don’t get me started on how our pathetic addiction to modern technology’s fancy gadgets combined with our junky-like obsession for instant gratification is killing what little of our brain we have left. But that’s whole other topic for an entire other column.
All I know is that I was doing just fine without people being able to stay in touch with me every minute of every hour. My land phone was a perfectly well functioning means of communication (mind you: free of dropped calls and broken up reception); so was my high tech Casio computer aka my calculator, and also my Internet connection: the municipal library – thank you very much!

Anyhow, back to the topic of this column, which has yet to be determined.
So I’m not going to write about Georgie – we’ve already established that – which really leaves only one other option: MOI!

Believe it or not but this past week, in a sheer moment of pure brilliance, I had an epiphany. It suddenly dawned on me that, perhaps, I might possibly maybe be spending too much time in my head, and potentially need to get a life …  a real one in the real world that is!

With that in mind, I decided to skim through the profiles of my 456 Facebook friends (450 of whom I absolutely do not know from Adam) to see what these people were up to in their lives; where do their social butterfly selves go to hang out; and what do they do for fun. Honestly I did not find anything remotely exciting. What I did get, however, was a shit load of too much information, which really made me wonder how do these people have time to do all the things they say they do when obviously the majority of their time is consumed with the “by the minute” posting of their “wall” updates.

That said, one particular item did nevertheless catch my attention, namely the social status of an acquaintance of mine who switched from “in a relationship” to “single.” Not to be mean, but that truly put a smile on my face! I’ll cop to it, I’ve always had a little romantic interest in said acquaintance (let’s call her Christie).
Alright, let’s cut to the chase, I totally dig Christie – always have from the very minute I met her two years ago. The problem was that not only was I too much of a wimp to make the moves but also, and most importantly, she had an extra baggage called a girlfriend.

No need to remind you that I already went through one back surgery and refuse to lift anything heavy anymore. While evidently the girlfriend problem was now solved, I still had to resolve the other problematic obstruction: me, and my mortifyingly numbing fear of rejection phobia that famously prevents me from mustering the guts to approach the object of my desire to launch a successful courtship campaign. I’m just a total complete disaster!

I kind of, sort of, briefly entertained the idea of calling Christie to casually touch base with her and of course get the 411 on the casualties of relationships that prompted the Facebook “single” status update, but evidently quickly changed my mind. While the move strategically sounded good on paper, in reality I knew I would only be accomplishing one grand thing, namely making a total fool of my imbecilic self. Instead, I did what everybody else in a critically desperate predicament would have done: I called her best friend.

After all, it’s always easier to get the scoop from that neutral “Switzerland” person who is usually the pacifying connecting dot between you and your future ex-girlfriend, right? Well, in my case: WRONG! It’s not that I am a drama-queen but I seem to have a natural knack for attracting complications – you know, those sinfully irresistible immoral situations you consciously jump into against all your better judgment thinking you’ll get away with it, yet infallible always come back later to royally bite you in the ass.

Clearly, I was now full blown into the “bite you in the ass” phase of the “payback’s a bitch” karmic law. Let’s just say that said “Switzerland” was in no position to exercise its impartibility having previously being implicated in a little fleeting love affair with none other than me. Shame on me for corrupting our global mediator and forcing it into an untraditional alliance with me! But in my defense I will say that it only lasted a very short ephemeral night, so really it shouldn’t count – it’s like being married for less than 24 hours; I should automatically be legally eligible to file for an annulment.

That said, as much as in my head now the whole sleeping with Christie’s BFF incident never existed, I wasn’t sure it had been totally deleted from Switzerland’s mental map. But it was still an easier affair to handle than directly dealing with the targeted subject of my romantic interest. So I made the call at the risk of paying dearly for lacking the protection of an international roaming plan!

We casually chatted for about 5 minutes and then I nonchalantly inquired about Christie. As highly anticipated, she informed me about the recent breakup and I, of course, acted as if I was receiving the breaking news for the first time, simulating concern and empathy. But really, as awful as it sounds, I was truly elated to get the confirmation that Christie was now a free bird – as in AVAILABLE.

Yet aware of the dangerous fact that I could potentially be the “rebound” girl – something I absolutely did not fancy – I needed to dig deeper in my detective investigation to find out how the “we’re over” surgical detachment procedure was effectuated.

“What happened?” I said maintaining my seemingly compassionate tone, “is she ok?”
“Yes, she’s doing good,” replied Switzerland, “there was no drama; it was a mutually agreed decision, and they parted on good terms; she’s moving on with her life now.”

Suffice to say, this was great news for me. But now that she’s “moving on with her life” how do I make her move into my life?
First things first, I figured that seeing her might help my cause. So proceeding with our “shooting the breeze” conversation, to dissipate any traces of transparency on my end, I suggested as casually as humanly possible that we should all get together for a friendly social (innocent) girls’ night out. Luckily Switzerland was instantly sold on my proposition, and right then and there we set a day, time and location for our nocturnal adventure. Just like that I snatched myself a date – granted an “unofficial” one since Christie will never get the memo, but in my book that’s still a date!

Now this is the part where you’re all sitting at the edge of your seat anxiously waiting for the nail-biting denouement of this highly suspenseful thriller that is this episode of my dateless life – because evidently I am the center of your universe – and where I disappoint you by informing you that said date is scheduled for next week.

And while I could certainly write about what I very much expect to be happening, based on the inexhaustible fruit of my outrageously creative imagination, I will, nevertheless, wait to see what reality has in store for me.

After all I need to get a “real” life, remember?