Hello lovelies, long time, no post! 😦 I haven’t died, I’ve just been adjusting to my new life after the big move to Texas (it’s almost been one year if you can believe it). I left off with my last post of making changes for the better, uncharacteristic optimism, hopeful positivity, etc. Man-o-man, am I manifesting that positivity, thriving and living my best life… Ugh god, I wish that were true.
To be honest, I have hated living in Dallas for just about every second since I crossed the state line. There are many reasons for why that is:
For starters, the weather here is absolutely terrible (seriously talking about weather?! Not a strong start I know, just hang tight). I never knew I experienced seasonal depression because I’ve never lived anywhere without 95% sunshine. Dallas during winter is abysmal, dreary, rainy and cold. Waking up in the morning to see the misty gray clouds sucked the can-do spirit right out of my bones.
Secondly, and very importantly, the people here are absolutely terrible. Now before any real Texans come knocking on my door with a .22, let me just say, I live in the downtown-uptown area of central Dallas. Now for locals, hearing that will cause them to nod their head in acknowledgment and understanding. For those not familiar, I’ll explain.
No one in the city center of Dallas is Texan, were all transplants from elsewhere that came here for the abundance of well paying jobs. So basically, I’m surrounded by a bunch of money-centric, heartless, and self-absorbed narcissists. But all of that is okay when you drive a G-Wagon, right? And you know that leads right into the third and main reason why I’ve hated it here.
I cannot stress this enough: DATING IS AN ABSOLUTE NIGHTMARE HERE. I wish I could say that’s an exaggeration, but it’s not. I don’t know how I could have such a disproportionate amount of bad dates compared to any other city I’ve lived in, but that’s just the case.
Where do I even begin to describe these freaks that I’ve had the true misfortune in sitting across the table from. There is not enough booze in the world to make these personalities tolerable.
Well since you’re here, I’ll just reminisce a little…
There was the pilot that flew into DFW for an evening and took me on a romantic date. We laughed, we drank, we bar crawled. We were having such a good time and somehow felt comfortable. So comfortable that mid-drink, he decided to share that his flight attendant called him in the cockpit from the phone in the back galley mid-flight to have phone sex with him.
There was the arrogant business owner, very wealthy, I mean doing really well for himself, because he wanted me to know. Especially when he picked me up in his brand new BMW, which was such a pain for him to buy, because salesmen, am I right. Poor thing! The best part was when he canceled our date — in the middle of us actually being on it — because he had an event that he “totally forgot about”. But don’t worry, he offered to drive me home and asked if he could come back and “hang” at my place after he got out of his event.
I saved my favorite for last: the firefighter who thought it was fun to share horrifying and descriptive details of scenes he’d responded to, especially ones that involved children — completely unprompted. Followed by informing me of his well-endowed lower half. So well-endowed in fact, that he was considering making an OnlyFans, at the suggestion of the last woman he’d had sex with. Who was a very physically fit police officer (she did CrossFit!) in case that detail was important to anyone. He thought it was.
Sadly, theres more to add to the list but I think you get the point. I’ve basically given up hope that there are decent men left on this planet, which I know is not fair because it’s not true, but feelings can be silly like that.
All of this leads me to my point, why can’t I just be okay with being alone? I mean, there are people out there that have never found love, don’t particularly care, and just live their life. How much easier and stress free would that be?! And why can’t that be me? I love being independent, having my own space, spending time with my friends and family. I take care of myself financially, mentally, and physically. Is that not enough for my stupid selfish brain??
Why do I feel this annoying longing to find a partner to share my life with? I blame books. All of those adventurous stories of strong minded young women conquering the world amid finding true and passionate love. FUCKING JANE AUSTIN, how could you do me like that??
But hey, it’s not all that bad here, sort of. Outside of dating, I’ve worked my butt off with my new writing job and even got a promotion. I adopted two kitty boys that are simultaneously the light of my life and bane of my existence. I joined a women’s flag football team that focuses on charity fundraising while pretending we’re athletic all stars. I’ve made friends and found some favorite drinking holes.
And who knows, maybe my “one” is out there in this big city right now, experiencing all the same dating misfortune I am. And then unexpectedly, we run into each other at one of my new favorite drinking holes. He bumps into me knocking me over and spilling my drink. He helps me up and we make eye contact — I have to crane my neck because he’s 6’4″, obviously — it’s a sizzling life-altering tingly connection between us. He profusely apologizes as he offers to buy me another drink. I tell him it’s not necessary but he does anyway. And I know the second I see that gorgeous grin of his that I’ve already fallen in love. A woman from the crowd comes up and grabs his arm, “Jake, come on, we have to go!” I step back, feeling foolish. Of course he has a girlfriend, I mean look at him! I awkwardly excuse myself from the situation and work my way through the crowd before he has another chance to say anything. I find my way back to my friends, pretend like I’m unperturbed and dance the night away. I wake up hungover, bits of the night flashing their way through my mind. I remember Jake and pretend not to care that my one true love at first sight belongs to a blonde bimbo with no personality and fake lips — not that I know for sure but it makes me feel better to think so. An indeterminate amount of time passes through my work week and I find myself alone in a swanky new spot in town that my friend raved about. I’m reading a book at the bar and eating a garden salad with balsamic vinaigrette. I’m so wrapped up in my book that I didn’t notice the tall man take the stool to my right. I quickly glance up at the motion, go back to my book, and then do a double-take. Omg, it’s Jake. He smiles at me and says he still owes me that drink. My mouth drops open in surprise but I quickly regain composure and hit him with a witty remark. His quick wit completely disarms me and we spend several hours swapping life stories over drinks. The bar is closing and I say we need to leave before the staff kicks us out. He said they can’t kick out “the boss”. He tells me that he owns the bar, in a humble manner of course. Before I leave he asks if he can take me out on a date at a place he doesn’t own (I told you, he’s witty). I give him a confused look and ask about his dumb busty blonde, but I just say girlfriend because that sounds better. Now he looks confused, “Girlfriend?! Is that why you ran off the other night?” He explains that was his buddy’s girlfriend, and that he was in fact single; that he was disappointed he wasn’t able to get my number that night. I groan at my silly assumption, obviously guys can have female friends with huge fake boobs and fake lips. What was I thinking?? So I blush and I give him my number and the rest is history.
… or something like that…
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