When I Think About You I Sext Myself

                “I noticed last night that so and so ‘liked’ one of your pictures from awhile ago.  I think maybe he has the hots for the Angie.” a friend texted me.

                “Yeah, I saw that.  I guess I was uncertain of what that meant.  What am I supposed to do now?  ‘Like’ one of his pictures from awhile ago?”  I replied, (and with proper grammar and punctuation because I can’t stand lazy texters, also I have a hard time deciphering what all the acronyms stand for.  I feel like it’s a slippery slope that once I throw the first LOL out there people will get the idea that I KNOW what they’re talking about when they fire me back a BTW ATOL AFK…… I don’t.  Plus if it also happens to be a real word as well as some whipper snapper speak I may think there’s just emphasis on it and not that It’s a whole phrase.)

                Six months ago I walked away from a four year relationship that for most of which I thought would be my last (not in an ominous if-I-can’t-have-her-no-one-can sort of a way).  I of course had become lax in dating, for obvious reasons, (not that I was ever really good at it to start with) but when I looked around and found myself in the land of Social Media Dating and Undating I felt as if I needed a tutorial.  By ‘tutorial’ I mean like maybe a semester at the community college or even an Associate’s degree. 

So to start things off I did all the things that I believed to be required in a break-up in the age of social media, you know, changed my status, blocked his Instagram, de-friended all of his work friends, and deleted any pictures of the two of us in relationshipped bliss.  Gone are the days of just throwing away his number and hoping you don’t ‘remember’ it when a few drinks makes a 2 AM conversation sound like the best idea EVER!  No, now like a near death experience, you’re quite literally having your relationship flash before your eyes in the form of tagged and posted photos as you listen to a Nine Inch Nails/Fiona Apple/Scissor Sisters break-up playlist (hey, don’t knock that ménage trois until you’ve tried it, you won’t know whether to dance, cry or cut yourself) trying to remember the bad times while you publicly delete all the good ones.  It is a necessary Facebook evil though.  Heaven forbid that I meet a large manlier version of Prince Charming who is gainfully employed with emotional baggage that is carry-on sized, and he creeps my Facebook only to come across a camping picture of myself and the ex that I missed when ‘cleaning house’.  (Side note, after writing this I went and creeped my own Facebook only to realize that I did indeed miss photos.)

Next step, get rid of my relationship status entirely.  After careful consideration I found that for an over thinker such as myself it’d be best to just do away with that little baby.  I mean there just weren’t enough choices to adequately sum up what my ‘relationship status’ has been over the last six months.  Options that would make me change my mind on this (and in timeline order):

‘Fragile.’

‘Completely emotionally and mentally unavailable, but if you’d like to make out sometime I might be game….. but maybe not.’

‘I’m not sure if I want to date anyone when I’m sober, but after a few drinks…..’

‘I might be seeing someone…. um, maybe not.... hold on I could be.... nope nevermind’

‘I’m awkward, but your face is neat.’

‘Recovering commitmentphobe.’

‘Coffee and blow j’s.’

‘Is in a really great place in her life and holding out for someone who’s looking for imperfection.’

These, make sense. 

Now originally I had a whole paragraph devoted to what my idea of ‘dating’ was in years gone by and after careful review of this it seemed that I had never ‘dated’ like I did in my mind, or that of the movies.  There were no grand chance encounters that ended with a romantic, not too eyebrow raising, kiss while ‘Endless Love’ played in the background.  Only one time in my illustrious 32 years of life has a man picked me up and brought me flowers. Hell if I get all ‘age of smartphone’ on you I can say that being on the receiving end of someone who’s just ‘fired off a dick pic’ (affectionately called) is like a partridge in a pear tree for me (you know, once).  I’m more ‘Girls’ than ‘Sex in the City’.  I’ve always just ran into someone, had a conversation, traded numbers, got all sweaty (sweaty like nervous, not like all porny sweaty.  Ok, well that was certainly involved as well.  I’m no saint.), swapped some spit and called it exclusive!  I guess playing the coy lady waiting on a man to make the move while I sit back and fan myself wasn’t in my repertoire.  I’m becoming more and more ok with it.  I mean I’m still susceptible to all sorts of ‘lady’ things…. Flowers, flattery and bourbon to name three, and  I’m certainly not implying that I’m a closet dominatrix just waiting for a less than strong willed male to come by so I can don my leather and force my will upon them (I’d look awful in leather, and I’d be sooo sweaty!  This time not ‘nervous’ sweaty but actually sweaty.)  More of an acceptance of the blurring of the gender roles in the dating game is all.

  I also had written a good portion about Facebook and all the nuances about ‘what it all meant’ (thus the intro), but as I mentioned earlier, I’m an over thinker.  My twelve year old son put it very succinctly today for me on our drive home. 

“Mommy, I just don’t get the guys at my school.  They all want the hot chicks!  Well that’s plain dumb.  I mean, they’re good looking and all, but they KNOW they are and all the guys flock to them.  So they think they can be soooo sassy and you have all that competition.  I like my girls in the middle.  You know, the ones that are cute, not hot, smart, and funny.  Then once you find out how smart and funny they are, you are the guy that knows the secret………. that your girl is hotter than theirs.”

And that happened.  I may be the proudest mommy on the whole planet.  With all the media, social and otherwise it’s easy to get caught up in how it all SHOULD be instead of how it actually is.  Dating is confusing and messy.  It has highs and it has lows and we all do it differently.  Sometimes it takes a twelve year old on the verge of getting a new voice with no experience past a ‘Will you be my boyfriend?’ written on a bubblegum wrapper, to remind me that we make it waaayyyy more than it should be. 

Now, if you need me I’ll be busy enjoying being in the best place I’ve ever been….. Comfortable with who I am and holding out for someone who’s looking for imperfection.