In Which I Try to be LESS of a ‘Ho

Hello internet.. lately a week in my life feels like a year. I find that I just met someone last week, they fell out of my life this week, and the whole thing only took a week in total. This is why I hate trying to date. Although since I changed my dating site profile pictures, I am apparently quite the catch for 40-something year old cowboys with anger issues. (Alas, no cute ones yet- and the age is fine, as I’m 35.)

On Monday I had this conversation with my shrink:

“How are you?”

Me: “Hmmm…wfessffsd” (Seriously, all I managed to utter was some sort of noise.)

“Can I tell you something I’ve observed about you?”

I tried to nonchalantly take a sip of my coffee and wound up dumping it down my front. I nodded sloppily, while reaching for a fist-full of tissues.

“You come in here talking about despair and anxiety and profound depression, and yet you always seem cheerful and even perky.”

Her observation didn’t surprise me in the slightest. Actually, it surprised me that anyone would be different…

“I’ve only let two people in my entire life see my feelings,” I told her “and one is divorcing me” (have you also observed that I am prone to melodrama?)

***

A guy found my OKCupid profile and told me he too is a yogi (I will never, ever refer to myself as a yogi. Or a yogini. I’ve been doing yoga for 20 years and I’m not a damn yogi. I’m way too easily embarrassed for that), and asked where I practice. I told him, and he said that he’s been known to pop into Big Yoga as well. I looked at his profile too… he had made a fortune in his 20s, sold off his company, and now does nothing but do yoga, and quite possibly roll around in his money.

He asked if we could have a juice after class on Wednesday, and I said yes, except I’m too broke to buy a juice. I sort of (guiltily) knew he’d offer to buy me one when I mentioned that, but I really am that broke, and I don’t like to lie or demur or…   pass up a chance to complain.

As I was unfolding my mat, he approached me. His eyes moved slowly, slowly up my body. So appraising was his gaze that I involuntarily folded inward. I didn’t want him to see … me. But apparently I didn’t check out. After class he wouldn’t even turn his head towards mine as I tried to make conversation. He chugged his juice in one big gulp, and then told me he had to run. As I sat in my car by myself I thought… “Hm. Online dating is the stupidest. And that was just supposed to be a friendly conversation between… yogis. And now I get to sit in my car and wonder what he found so objectionable… was my hair a mess?”

My favorite thing is that a full 50% of the people who write to me try to do so in Google translated or sounded out Japanese “konnishiwa” “oh-hi-yo gosaimash!” I can’t imagine if I actually were Japanese. Speaking of, I do have a hot date tonight with a Japanese guy who just moved here for work. His English is perfect, unlike T’s, and I can’t tell what he thinks when I switch between English and Japanese.

But.

I have done the fadeaway with all but my trusty friends-with-benefits guy from the last post. B is such a sweetheart, and really hot. The rest were making my heart ache and my stress skyrocket.

Time for some matcha and houjicha.

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