Charming, but single

A journal in dates and drinks


Mortification

When I do things and immediately regret them – like, say, most of what I did on New Year’s Eve – I almost immediately want to change my habits so that I won’t have to run into the other parties involved. Find a new neighborhood. Leave my regular haunts. Move to a different city and change my name. (I think someone stands to make a lot of money by implementing a Witness Protection Program-style relocation project to help embarrassed singles escape multitudes of dating disasters.) I never know what to say and avoid confrontation like the plague. I won’t go to the Cigar Bar for at least two weeks now that I’ve kissed The Blackberry. Avoidance might not be the most mature answer to the question, but at least it saves me from having to face my mistakes like an adult. There is a problem with this approach to life. You can’t hide from people forever. And this has never been more evident than right now, at this very moment, when I am sitting in the coffeehouse by my apartment, otherwise known as my writing sanctuary. I try to avoid only writing at home because I get distracted and watch TV and cook dinner and chat on the phone. But armed with a $4 cup of coffee and my headphones, I write amazingly well because it is busy enough to keep me working and relaxing enough for me to really reach my creative place. Plus, there are fewer distractions and no pillows to beckon me back to bed. When I feel like I need to write as detox, to feel the thrill of my fingers flying across the keys of my ThinkPad, to revel in the release of just getting it all out of my system, I come to the coffee shop and it is just me and my laptop up against the big bad world of dating. Not today, unfortunately. As I type, The Blackberry is sitting across the coffee shop. He has seen me. I know this. But I have kept my head down and my iPod on. I look focused, like I could be working, when really I just want to die because he is here. It feels like he has invaded my personal space, which is ridiculous because I have no more claim to it than he does. And even though I know that he has no idea what I am working on, I worry that he can feel me ripping him to shreds. And I am embarrassed for the both of us. Such an unmatched pair. I despise him (even more so than I did before) and he knows it. I think it turns him on. I must leave in a half hour to go meet a friend to see a movie and The Blackberry is sitting right by the door. I could rush past and not say hello. It would be almost impossible for me to pass through the door and not see him. And he’d likely say something to me. I could ignore him. But I wonder if I am that cruel. Update: Not still trapped in the coffee shop. He got up from his table, I left through the opposite door as he was coming back. I'm kind of a moron for not thinking of that earlier. And I don't feel so cruel, because it's not like he came over and spoke to me. Do I think he thinks Sunday night was a mistake? Hard to tell. Here's to hoping ...



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Charming, but single is 25 26 27(!), lives in the Southern part of the U.S.A. and likes both her drinks and her boys tall. E-mail (listed below) her and she may respond. You can also IM her in AIM/AOL. (If she ever remembers to sign on.)
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Former taglines of this blog: "A Journal in Dates and Drinks" and "A Dateless Journal of Drinking."




Those Particulars
Some Backstory
Memories of the Way We Were
Updates and Towel Snapping
One Year Wrap-Up
Just As She Is
An Open Letter to Myself
After 26 years, she HAS learned something
An Open Letter to the Men Who Message Me Through Match
Sharing a smoke



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