For all you peeps slavering at the thought of reading about another disastrous installment of my love life, back I say! Back!
You. Shall. Not. Pass!
So what I’m saying is that you won’t find a disastrous date story here.
What you will find is ALL the ingredients for what could possibly be the final straw in regards to dating, and then my inevitable entry into the priesthood, then of course, since
I will no longer be obsessed with boobs and sex and stuff I’ll be nice to everyone, my beatification to sainthood. So 100 years from now when our robot masters are crushing us under their metallic heel, you can pray on Saint Sweatpants… patron saint of the loving music yet sucking at it, the terminally single and puppies. Not that I can do much to help you against the robots though.
In a previous post I wrote about the bi-girls (another post celebrating my idiocy in regards to the dating world btw, for those of you who really, really need another installment), Girl A and Girl B.
Girl A is still a mystery, wrapped in a riddle, wrapped in a conundrum. Even just being friends with her is a trial. Weeks can go by without any response on her end (and it’s not like I’ll bombard her with texts or calls. I’ll text her once, maybe twice, and then leave it), then out of the blue she’ll text/call me and we’ll spend a week chatting everyday for hours. And then, for no reason I can discern, contact stops. Rinse and repeat.
Girl B and myself on the other hand have gotten very close in the past couple of weeks. The chemistry is there, the physical attraction is there, we’re both single. We’re both at a point in our lives when the prospect of a long-term monogamous relationship will not send us running for the hills.
Perfect you might think?
Well once again the universe dangles perfection in front of me, and yanks it away just as I’m about to grasp it.
She lives way on the other side of the country.
And she has no intention on moving back here to the eastern side of the country for at least another 2 years. If ever. Her forays over to the eastern seaboard, are really only during the Christmas period to see family (which is when we first banged into each other).
And I have no intention of moving to her neck of the woods, because for the first time in a very long time, I’m very happy with my career prospects, despite the fact that my contract may not be extended. My skill sets are in heavy demand, there are at least 20 different departments advertising for my role at my current level, and each of those departments are offering multiple roles. Couple that with my experience, and my ability to
bullshit talk well during interviews I don’t think I’d have any trouble landing another job.
We’ve both outlined to each other that we believe long-distance relationships just cannot work (with our relative personalities) and it’s just not economically feasible for either of us to fly back and forth to see each other on a regular basis (return flights are a shade under $2000).
We both know all of the above. And have thus laid out the boundaries, marked the borders and highlighted the lines which we really should not be crossing.
So what are we doing?
Boundaries have been ignored, borders transgressed, and as for the line… pfft… we’ve crossed the line so far that the line is a dot to us.
Dates have been set for a rendezvous over on her side of the country, and another for her to come to mine.
And I can hear you facepalming me, going “Why be all pessimistic for? Just give it a go! Who know’s what will happen?”
Ahhh, to be a romantic again.
But seriously, this isn’t pessimism, just plain ol’ realism.
This has 1 in a bajillion trillion million thousand billion (a number my 3 year old niece taught me, which apparently encompasses all numbers after 30) chance of panning out.
But here I am, metaphorically holding my lottery ticket in hand, hoping against all odds that this could work out.
Maybe I’m still a romantic after all…