I started this blog to share my travails as a lazy introvert trying to date.
“I might be shy but I’m awesome!” I thought. “There’s got to be a reason I’m single and hilarious stories within that reason…It’s not me, it’s them!”
Last night I realized…it’s me.
As it so happens I live next to a house full of young men of varying handsomeness. It’s sort of a rotating cast of characters, many of whom are friendly and several of whom have been downright rude. I’ve awkwardly matched with 2 of them over the years on dating sites. Both times I didn’t recognize them and later they were like “um I think you live next door to me.” They each asked me out and when I was busy they then never asked me out again. And never mentioned it in person. I mean neither did I but I choose not to blame myself for anything. In fact one guy would chit chat with me and then message me on okc separately later. Or be walking down the street as I was going inside and not say anything and then message me later like “why are you avoiding me?” Yes, I’m avoiding you and not just trying to go in my house late at night rape-free.
Another part of this house is they’re all in a band. Or more accurately they all loudly play repeating beats on instruments. They have parties every few months increasing the amount of people there playing loud beats and speaking loudly outside. I am never invited to these parties. (That has no relevance to this story.)
Recently, a new guy has moved in who is much more outgoing than the others. He’s the first in 4 years to ask if the music bothers me (which it sort of does but I’m interested enough in seeming cool to not complain) and is always chatty with my dog.
Last night, after drowning my Inauguration sorrows, I had to take the dog out before bed. I bounced downstairs in my finest dog walking wear (XXL GAP sweatshirt from 6th grade, penguin pj pants, and pink heels I had left at the door) with raccoon eyes (since everyone knows it’s better to let your eye makeup rub off through the night than to purposefully remove it) singing the instrumental part of Careless Whisper at the top of my lungs.
The new guy is out on the stoop with a friend, on the phone fighting with a girl. The dog goes and I walk back toward my door as he ends the call and says hi. “Rough night?” I ask, knowingly. He responds with a laugh and asks after my dog, who goes up for a head rub.
“Hey you wanna jam with us?” he asks.
Here’s my chance! A casual meet-cute! I brushed my hair aside with the hand not holding a bag of dog poop and responded.
“Oh thanks but I have to work.”
Which wasn’t true.
“This is awkward.”
“I look awful.”
“His friend has a face tattoo.”
All those things were true, but all are excuses.
Basically I’m not willing to take a chance on feeling uncomfortable.
So why am I single? It’s not them, it’s me.