"i keep your picture in my worn through shoes"

My blog bud Summer posted this song today.



I have been listening to it non-stop all afternoon. It is talking me down.

Guys, I am a bitter Betty today.

I normally avoid speaking in specifics about people in my life with the general understanding that I wouldn't want to find myself the center of a cyberspace rant. Add to that the (possibly irrational) fear that someone I date will discover loads of bloggy goodies about himself on this little space and my cardinal blog rule that specifics about family and friends are way off limits. Finish off with the fact that I simply don't want to bore you all with the same shizz over and over again.

But I must, again, talk about the dating.

Oh, dating. How I harbor a general disdain for you. Except when things are going well. Then I love you to bits. Natch.

Enter the most recent dude. He expressed interest. A lot of it. My phone was blowin' up (to use an expression I can't stand.) At first I maintained a healthy amount of skepticism. "What exactly is behind a gentleman's constant attention?" a true lady must ask herself. But he seemed to like to talk to me and I liked talking to him so I went with it.

Then the inevitable happened.

I started to have expectations. Expectations in keeping with the precedent HE set and in keeping with my gender. It is a curse really. When that voice in your head starts screaming on the second date it is sometimes hard to get her to shut the hell up. But I didn't go psycho girl if that is what you are thinking. All was kept light and airy. Fun. I can do fun!

Two nice dates were had. I admit I goofed on the second one and chose a movie that should never, ever be seen by second daters. It was tres depressing! So when we parted that night I was feeling sheepishly stupid but no harm, no foul. Right?

The goodbye was weird.

Kiss of death. I have been on enough dates to know that something was not right in Wooville. I tried to resusscitate things over the next couple of days but it all just flatlined. I mean, he was gone. As in no forwarding address. Disappeared. F'ing agreed to go out again, acted interested and then adios.

I'm pissed.

Yep, I am. And I hate that I feel like this makes me just one cat short of a crazy lady. But y'all saw my list. Out of all the lucky lads on that list I can count on my fingers (and exclude the thumb!) how many guys I have liked. He made that short list! But women are crazy. They want too much too fast. Far be it for us to expect a guy to set a precedent of being interested then stick with it. Hell, they don't have to stick with it. Just have the courtesy to inform us when you aren't going to. We've all been there. We've all had the "It's not you. It's me." conversation. Everyone knows it is fake but it is the right thing to do.

Mr. Gable he made me like him! I didn't wanna do it. (Well, I did but you get the point.) And now it is back to the drawing board. And since this is my pity post and I will act crazy if I want to, I finish with the stereotypical flourish:

MEN! Ugh.