I was a late bloomer. My boobs may have developed when I was twelve, but I didn't even start to like boys until I was fourteen. Boy, then I hit the ground running. I was boy crazy, which was accelerated by the fact I went to an all girls high school. What you can't have, yada yada.
After my first date at sixteen, I was a dating like gangbusters - going out with anyone who looked my way. I remember dating a twenty-eight year old carnie when I was eighteen whose idea of a good date was us hanging in my car (he didn't have one) while he drank a six-pack of Budweiser mini cans. Because they were glamorous.
Going to an engineering college that was 75% male was like heaven. Also one of the reasons why I chose that college. After a year I left for a less expensive school, but staying in engineering maintained the ratio boon.
Soon enough it occurred to me that I did not have to go out with any guy who asked me out. Even more important, dating someone just for kicks was not worth the effort of having to break up. The two-hour breakup talk after dating a guy for two weeks sank that last nail in my casual dating coffin. Too much effort being involved in dating casually, I quit cold turkey.
When I say I stopped, boy did I ever. I didn't date for two years. Didn't really matter, I had starting working at a place that doubled as my social life. Every night we all went out for drinks, either at the bar next door or at a buddy's apartment. They were way fun years, so filled with drinks and laughter I never wanted more.
Then I met the Ex, and he won me over. Just by being him. We fell in love, moved in together. After two years we broke up. It was hard, but was made easier for me by my moving to NYC. Nothing to get your mind off an old love than a new one.
Since being in New York I have been in dating limbo. I have had a couple dates here and there, but for being here almost five years it is pretty scarce. Sure, I have tons of reasons: Too busy with two jobs, too busy making friends, too busy being sick, too busy training to run races.
Blah blah blah. Not actually being in a relationship for five years says something. Chicken? Yeah, a little. Really, the biggest hang-up? I just haven’t seemed to care.
I used to long to be with that special someone, my dream guy, the person who would be "the one." I would concentrate and send mental vibes out to the universe, in an effort to connect telepathically with my imaginary man. I believed - In romance. In love. In a future as half of a whole.
Somehow that idea just is gone. Without that glint in my eye I just can't motivate to meet new men. When I meet a guy instead of thinking maybe, I recognize things that I don't like. I suppose it is easier to just never give anyone a chance.
Why am I thinking about this? My circle of friends is changing again, and I am longing for some stability. Someone who is close to me, and stays close to me. Who I can count on, and who can count on me. Someone who does not move away, get married, or stop hanging out.
Don’t get me wrong - I love change, and totally understand the necessity of it as well. In my own weird way it is me growing hope again of being able to find that someone special. Growing tired of passing fancies.
The million-dollar question: Now what the heck am I going to do about it?
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