This all began with the obvious easy way out: online dating. I don't pay for that stuff anymore, so I signed up on OkCupid this summer but abandoned it when I met Cute Boy. I returned to my account to find a decent number of messages, most from guys I would never go out with. Too old. Too short. Too little hair. Too much hair. Too foreign. Too creepy. Too naked. Too Jersey Shore. Too picky? Nah.
There was one who seemed normal, and we'll call him Astronaut Mike Dexter to preserve his identity. The Roomie perused messages from potential dates with me one night, and when I opened up Astronaut Mike Dexter's she said, "Astronauts suck! Ask him why he's an astronaut." He wrote back: "I've traveled to the moon a couple of times and enjoyed the work. So tell your roommate astronauts don't suck." (Note: This wasn't the actual conversation, she doesn't actually think astronauts suck, and we all know the moon is made of cheese and no one has ever actually been there, but you get the gist.) Shortly after that the conversation fizzled. My most hopeful lead on Mr. Maybe and I didn't even get to meet him.
That's when I started getting out more often to places where single men congregated. But that wasn't working either. Discouraged? Yes. Giving up? Never! So when DateMeDC told me to come to her happy hour I mustered up some hopefulness, put together a cute outfit (but not too cute, down-to-earth is always better than smokin' hot), and cabbed over to the Mad Hatter in Dupont. (P.S. It's officially too cold to walk more than three blocks so I cab a lot these days, and it's getting expensive. Anyone want to buy my car so I can cut out my parking expenses?)
That morning I'd heard on the radio that women should have five criteria in a man and then compromise beyond that. I'd decided mine were Single, Straight, Employed, Taller than Me, and Christian. I told myself if someone met these (I could find out at least three of the criteria in an initial conversation without being terribly offensive) I had to open my mind a little and give it a shot. But every guy I met was too something. Right as I was about to resign myself to being alone forever because I'd gotten too picky in my old age, DateMeDC appeared. "Your unicorn is on the way, he's late because he's serving people dinner at a homeless shelter. Oh, and he played water polo in college. And I don't set him up with many girls because he's too good of a guy, but I've read your blog and I think you'll get along well."
HA. What-EV. He'll have a lazy eye, or a crooked front tooth, or a wart, or too big of a chin, or something that will turn me off.
But when she finally brought him around to meet me, he had none of those things. And by the way, he's single, straight, has a really cool job, definitely taller than me, is a preacher's son and doesn't seem all that rebellious, and he runs triathlons to boot. That's right, ladies, I was standing before the mythical Eligible Man.
We began talking and right away he offered to buy me a drink. We were laughing, having smart, witty conversation, making lots of eye contact, no awkward silences...I mean, you'd think this would be a good thing, but after my month of meeting d-bags it was a little bit eerie.
But don't worry, he had a bomb to drop, and he finally clued me in.
"So I have a confession to make," he said, looking at me apologetically. "DateMeDC sent me a link to your blog..."
And there it was. He thought I was boy crazy and full of myself and generally insane. But wait...he was talking to me, so maybe not?
"...and I have a question for you. Did you and your roommate ever clear up the argument about whether astronauts rocked or sucked?"
Hrm. "Did I blog about that?"
Uhhh... "Did I tweet about that?"
"I'm Astronaut Mike Dexter." And then a devious, very handsome smile crept across his face, and my face turned bright red.
Turns out he recognized me when he went to my blog. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is called fate. Except we haven't actually had a date yet. Stupid holiday cheer ruining my love life! Hopefully there will be updates...