The dating game

LIFESTYLE

Ever since my first mixer in junior high, when a boy asked me to slow dance and the older kids had to physically show me where to place my arms, I knew I was doomed for the dating world. You know the saying, “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure?” Well, my dating life is sort of like that. Except it’s more like “One woman’s failures in her romantic endeavors are everyone else’s entertainment.”

Growing up on rom-coms such as Serendipity, Sixteen Candles, and Say Anything, I allowed myself to believe that my dorky and quirky disposition would inevitably lead me to a whimsical, heart pounding, whirlwind romance. I would watch ‘You’ve Got Mail’ over and over again, each time allowing myself to be swept away by the charming correspondence between Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks. I pictured my [insert attractive, intelligent, and kindhearted man here] and I sharing secrets over lattes at a trendy coffee shop, strolling through the park holding hands, and throwing our heads back in laughter as soft orchestra music conveniently played in the background.

When I was in high school, the closest I came to a relationship was regularly exchanging instant messages with a boy from the neighboring school. And when I say ‘exchanging,’ what I actually mean is ‘sending arbitrary facts in hopes of starting a conversation and then following it up with aggressive inquiries as to why he wasn’t responding when my attempts went ignored.’ I thought things were going well at the time. In hindsight, I suppose me saying “Alright, I see how it is, fine, be like that” and him reluctantly replying (probably just so I would stop infiltrating him with insults) with “Um, I wasn’t even by my computer, jeeze, chill out.” was a pretty far cry from a ‘You’ve Got Mail’ reenactment, let alone any semblance of a relationship. The whole thing was very un-Meg Ryan of me. Looking back, I’m tempted to blame my lack of suave with boys on the nun teaching, uniform wearing, all girls high school that I attended. But then I look ahead and realize that, unfortunately, this trend extended far beyond high school. Lucky me.

Fast forward a few years later, when I unexpectedly meet someone who makes my pulse quicken and my words stammer uncontrollably. Someone who makes me want to paint rainbows and believe in the existence of unicorns. I was that girl. A friend had invited me to a summer barbecue her company was hosting. We met at the buffet table, and my first words to him vaguely consisted of my belief that I should join Overeaters Anonymous, based on the contents of my plate. Really, Natalie? REALLY? I had been joking (albeit, poorly), and either he understood my awkward sense of humor or thought that I was just enough of a lunatic to find intriguing. Evidently, my icebreaker was enough to nurture a conversation, which led to a first date, which evolved into my first love.

I fell in love the way a frightened flight passenger prepares for takeoff. Assess the risks. Decide that the destination is worth the vulnerability. Barrel down the runway so quickly that your hands are gripping the armrests and realize there’s no chance of turning back. Let go of your inhibitions and enjoy the weightless feeling, the sense that you’re defying all laws of physics. Trust that you’ll land safely.

We would spend hours at a time talking about the bands we’ve seen, the books we loved, and the places we’ve been. He was smart. He was funny. He was motivated. He challenged me, always encouraging me to maximize my potential. We shared a mutual curiousity for the world and spent countless days and nights analyzing, questioning, pushing for more. I pushed for more of him. I wanted to know everything. Every fear, every accomplishment, every like and dislike and hope and aspiration. We grew like this for three years, until our hopes and aspirations pushed us apart. He was offered a lucrative job on the other side of the country, and I was offered a lucrative promotion right where I was. Though a long distance relationship would have surely offered me the chance for a written love, a chance to reprise my fantasies of becoming a real life Kathleen ‘Shopgirl’ Kelly, it had been tearfully decided that we could not fight the opposite directions our lives were pulling us in.

First loves are easy to fall into, and hard to get up from. By the time I had even considered adopting the ‘plenty of fish in the sea’ mantra, it had been nearly four years since the dating world and I had crossed paths. Do people really meet at bars? Does match.com cost money? And what’s this Tinder thing everyone keeps talking about? After my mother dragged me to a furniture store under false pretenses, and then proceeded to try and set me up with the “strapping young gentleman” from whom she had recently purchased her new dining room table, right there in the middle of the showroom, I caved and decided to try treading the uncharted waters of online dating. How bad could it be? After all, if people couldn’t really find love online, then ‘You’ve Got Mail’ would have never been successful and my entire adolescent life would be a lie. In true fashion, my first few dates (I use that term loosely) were…interesting.

After a few exchanges of pleasantries with someone who we shall dub ‘GymLife4Ever,’ we agreed to meet for drinks. I wasn’t even through my first beer before he asked me how much I could bench press, what chorizo was, and how many miles are in a marathon. I somehow managed to get through the rest of our date without sneaking off to the restroom and pulling the emergency fire alarm. Before parting ways, he asked me if I wanted to, and I quote, “Get wasted with a famous rapper that I’m friends with before his concert this weekend.” Plot twist: there was not a second date.

(Excerpt from personal essay)

0 Likes