I went on a date after work last night. The things I am willing to do for blog fodder for y'all. He was a Suit. Nice. Cute. Age apropriate unlike my obsession with 27 year olds.
Lizzie said this morning I'm probably the most experienced dater she knows and she might be right. I've done this a million times. I honestly don't care if they pay, if they call me again, if they text me back.
Of course eventually it came up in conversation that he wasn't "looking for anything serious". Awesome. I, of course, came back with "well, I'm not looking for casual sex". I've been through my rebellious, self-destructive phase. I don't judge anyone who chooses to walk through life on that path. And I've been married. I have no big white wedding fantasies to project on any guy who walks into my life. Been there, done that. It was perfect the first time around so I'm not even sure if I would ever attempt it again.
However, it would be nice to find a guy who wants to talk to you after work and see how your day was. Cuddle. Go for brunch on Sunday. I'd be happy with that. Or would I?
Dude from last night asked me if I'd ever been in love.
Fuck yeah.
I can't help but wonder if, in our thirties, we're all just too messed up to make something work with another messed up person. We're not naive, we've been to the puppet show, we've seen the strings. We build walls around our hearts and cover them with barbed wire, God forbid we ever get hurt again. But we're also lonely this way, so we keep half-heartedly looking for something else.
Let's be honest. I'm not looking for a boyfriend. I'm looking for love. Real love. Stupid, inconvenient, all consuming, can't live without each other love.
That's the end game. In the meantime I can settle for cuddles and brunch. But no more casuals. Whose name I won't even remember in a few months.
Listen to this:
http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=a-j86tzxi8s#
Sullivan out.
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