Chapter One; Jumping into Dating Land

Hesitation.

Sometimes we just stop. We don’t know why. Our soul whispers to us to hit the pause button. Suspended momentarily by an invisible guiding force that leans in and says, wait a minute, I want you to notice something.

Why does that happen to us? But more importantly:

Should we listen when it does?

Just over a month ago I was walking out my front door when life did just that. The summer sun was shining so I brightly I could barely make out the name on the Facebook friend request on my blackberry screen.

I squint. Some guy named Nick. Hmmm. Doesn’t ring a bell.

Sigh. Probably just some creep trolling for chicks on Facebook.

I move to highlight and click the “Ignore” option like I usually do in these virtual hitting on situations but for some reason, this time, I stopped.

Facebook friend requests from strange men is a pretty common experience for single women without three eyeballs. And it is one of my biggest pet peeves. My mode of operation when it happens is to grunt, roll my eyes, and press delete. Take that you little Facebook freak job. But for some unexplainable Twilight Zone reason this time the universe prompted me to react otherwise. And just leave it there.

So I did.

And then? I forgot all about it. For approximately four days.

When I finally go online to check Facebook a few days later I think to myself, “Oh yeah, that stranger is still rotting out here in cyber social land.” I click on the request and read the note he’d sent that I hadn’t been able to view initially on my abbreviated blackberry version of Facebook. Something about he thought I looked like a fun person so hence the friend the request.

Whatever.

(Wow. Two years in Singledom and I'm already this jaded? Maybe, just maybe, he's . . . do I dare dream it . . . normal?)

So right there and then, I have a rare but profound attack of . . .you got it: optimism. Gasp. I don’t click ignore. Instead I hit the mental pause button and reconsider. You see, the mutual real life friend that Nick and I share (how he found me in this cyber labrynth of pokes and status updates in the first place) happens to be one of my most favorite souls on this planet. If she knows him, then it is probably not likely that he has a meth lab in his basement.

So I do something I’ve never done.

I click “Accept” and officially become Facebook friends with a potentially normal not likely druggie weirdo.

And then?

Oh you know it.

I promptly turn into a super stalker of the universe and creep on all of his information and pictures. Oooh, it’s kind of exhilarating. Doodly doo. Here I go. Who is this dude?

I can’t wait to find out.

And so, what’s the first thing my creeping blue eyes spy? My. My. Oh my.

Big.

Bulging.

Biceps.

Yeah. Now who’s the shallow one? Well, if I were a body of water right now I’d be a about a one inch muddle puddle. Make that a half inch. Holy crap is this guy hot.

After I wipe all the drool off my chin, I continue with the investigation and discover a lot of other very intriguing information about Mr. Hot Stuff, ah hem, I mean, Mr. Facebook.

First off, his personal information lists some of his favorite books, and they are titles and authors that I like too. On top of that intriguing coinky dink I am impressed to find that his pictures are not the standard partying shots that so many of us post on Facebook. (What? Who brings a camera to church? Duh.) Instead I discover lots of great visual glimpses into his job and friendships. Yeah, about that job. It's a hot job. Many women fantasize about dating men in this line of work, so I’ve heard. I have never personally daydreamed about red trucks and breaking down a door with an axe, but a few more pics in and I confess I was in a, oh you got it, a firefighter fantasizing frenzy.

Oh. My. Goodness.

I read some more and drool so much more that I have to go to my kitchen and get paper towels. Okay, not really, but it would be funny if I had.

But what I honestly do is pause. Again.

Brawn and brains? Character and depth?

This is unexpected.

I don’t know who emailed who first. Okay. That's a lie. I totally did. I thought I would introduce myself to that hot body, I mean, interesting man.

We start a little electronic dialogue and before long he asks me to meet him for a drink. And suddenly, when faced with the prospect of moving from internet ogling to that very scary place that can be Dating Land, my enthusiasm wanes. I’d just ended a short relationship with someone who wasn’t a match for me and I was just sick of the whole dating garbage. I was feeling strong and independent.

Do I really want to start this crap up again?

Because yes. Dating is crap. It’s absolute crap. If it doesn’t work out it culminates in either my having to kick someone to the curb or my being the one taking up unexpected residency on said curb. And both scenarios suck ass. The latter being the worse outcome because who wants a big old heap of rejection for breakfast with a side of endless sobbing? Exactly. I’d prefer a thick slice of French toast, thank you very much.

With bacon.

But for some reason I decide to just jump, ignore any and all hesitation.

And say yes. Yes, Mr. Facebook Fire Fighter who reads books and probably is not a meth addict with the hot job who incidentally has great, ok phenomenal, arms. I will meet you for a drink.

And so it begins.

A very.

Very.

Unexpected adventure in pausing and then jumping. Right back into the uncertain waters.

Of Dating Land.
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A big thank you to Kevin Tobosa for taking my publicity photo for my new blog! You are an extremely talented artist, I am honored.