The Day I Deleted Everything

Enough of the dating apps! It was time I deleted everything and focused on one person – me.

I was back in the game. I was back on the market. I was ready to stake my claim in the wonderful world of singledom. And all I wanted was to be left alone.

I’d been single for almost a year when I bolted to the car after my second date with Too Much Steve. In just 12 months, I’d cancelled a wedding, moved home with my parents, reentered the dating world, stumbled through my next first date, fell prey to The Wife Hunter, was make-out stalked by a shirtless Creep Crusader, thought I was being catfished, tried to have a one night stand (and failed miserably), met Magic Mike, was wooed by Magic Mike, almost shit my pants trying to get to Magic Mike, then was unpleasantly surprised by Magic Mike. My dad tried to set me up with Dr. Hot, I tried to date my potential boss, the cops tried to bust me for a drunken make out session, and I had to ghost a guy who just wouldn’t let me end it! THEN, on date #2, Too Much Steve blurted out “I love you”. My first date shirt had a tear in the seam, the butt of my skinny jeans was saggy and worn, and even THE boots needed a break from walkin’. I was nowhere near a new and exciting relationship, but damn was I exhausted!

Safely home after escaping Steve, I flopped down on my couch and took out my phone to find I had a new message on one of my dating apps. It was this guy I was talking to, and oh look, he gave me his number. I messaged him back mine and a few minutes later I heard my phone ding. A text message. I knew it was my newest online suitor, but how odd… the number did not come up as unknown. It had his name AND a witty nickname attached to it.

I HAD ALREADY MET THIS GUY ONLINE!

That was it. I had swiped enough. In fact, I had swiped so much that I was doubling back without even knowing who I was swiping! I wiped out all of my pictures, disabled each of my accounts, and deleted every single dating app. I was done.

I mean, the good news was that I was definitely ready to date again and I was sufficiently over my ex. That’s all well and good. Hooray, me. But I’d also just decided to make a major career move. I had classes to take and research to conduct. I had shit to do! What if my new job was in a new city? What if I started dating someone who needed to stay put? I knew a whole bunch of new opportunities would be rolling my way and I wanted to make those decisions in my best interest, and not based on the life choices someone else already made.

Listen, I don’t half-ass anything (with an ass like mine, even if I were to half-ass something, I’d still being using a whole lot of ass). But the point is, in order for me to be successful in whatever was coming next, I wanted to throw myself into it. I wanted to network. I wanted to attend events. I wanted to get out there, wear a name tag, listen to panels, be inspired, and soak in all of the new knowledge and opportunities that were laying out before me just waiting to be tackled! I was ready to attack. And I wanted to do it without asking permission.

“Oh, hey hun. Do you mind if I go to an event for bloggers?” “Is it ok if I take a different class every night this week?” “I want to go to a conference in LA. Do we have anything on the calendar?”

Oh, hell no. The only question I wanted to ask was, “Hey, Mom and Dad, I’m going to an event tonight, can you feed the cats?” (This is a serious priority. My little monsters get real hangry, real fast.)

Ready for this to get real? Because I’m about to drop some truth. I realized I was becoming a bad match. Yes, me, with all the refined grace and elegance of an esteemed lady of my classiness, was starting to be a terrible fucking date.

There was this one guy I dated, we’ll call him Joel, who was definitely not my typical type, although of course he had lovely shoulders. But he was super sweet and a little nerdy. A piano teacher who loved good jazz, knew his musical theater, could talk shit about college basketball, but would be ready to play at church on Sunday mornings. He taught voice lessons to kids and was starting his own music school. He had a chill vibe and style and looked manly in maroon pants. He met me out once at a piano bar and we bonded over our hatred of the musical Oklahoma, but let me tell you, there was a bright golden haze on that meadow when he belted out “Oh, What A Beautiful Morning”. It was hot. Real hot. The old gay man next to me told me I’d better marry that boy right then and there… before he tried to. Oh, Joel. My very own piano man (see what I did there?).

So, what happened? Was he a stalker? Was he indecent? Was he related?! What did he do wrong?

Absolutely nothing.

I was ready to date, but I was so not ready to be in any kind of relationship. I liked meeting new people and having some drinks with an interesting guy or two, but what kind of asshole starts dating someone who has potential with no intention of seeing it though?! Me, apparently. I am that asshole.

But I wasn’t thinking about when I’d be able to meet up next. I was focusing on how many classes I could squeeze into one weekend, which day I’d get to do my long run, and when I’d be able to catch up with my girlfriends. Dating without expectations was awesome, but as soon as it was time for the next little baby step, I’d put that marathon training to good use and run like a mother fucker in the other direction! Sure, I was ready to date, but I just didn’t want to. And that was completely fine with me.

I racked up a year of crazy dating tales, but it felt like my story was only just beginning. I was jobless, homeless, manless, and the happiest I’d ever been in my whole life.

<< Too Much, Steve!

#startingover #independence #onlinedating