In the comments on the previous post, someone asked if I am, indeed, dating. Of course, I’m not certain if that person was asking if I was dating or if I was airquotes, nudgenudge winkwink DAAAAATING, so I’m not quite sure how to answer. As for the former—it depends on how you define dating; and as for the latter; oh look! Something SHINY!
But I CAN tell you that today my membership to geeFlarmony expired. Isn’t that sad? It is sad. 6 months, no results. Unless you want to count TED. Ted and I were matched just this weekend! While I was away! And in the time it took for me to 1) access the mail and 2) go into my geeFlarmony account, Ted had already requested Fast Track communication—a.k.a. give me your email address right this second so that I can hack you into little bits as soon as possible—and then, THEN, closed the match because “my match never responded after repeated attempts at contact.” It had been less than a week.
So I’m heartbroken, naturally. I mean, with that sort of impatience, it’s possible that our man Ted here could’ve been an even better story than his fellow geeFlarmony misfit Whitey McBrother. I feel like an opportunity has been squandered, what with my blatant refusal to respond to him for the interminable period of… four days.
On the other hand, the whole recently-reunited-with-the-love-of-my-life thing has its perks. I’m fairly certain that with seventeen years of history behind us, I can trust that he’s not insane, or at least he’s a brand of insane that I can work with. None of this “wow, we dated for a couple of weeks and then it became clear that you’re a pathological liar” nonsense (which, truly, is interesting now and then, but I wouldn’t want to make a habit of it). None of this “wow, so, you’re actually a repressed homosexual, then” sort of thing (which, again; not that there’s anything wrong with that, but a woman can only tolerate so many of those before she starts to wonder if it’s time to change perfume).
And then on the third hand—because you really NEED a third hand for all of this, although if you actually HAVE a third hand I just… well… I don’t want to know—we’re not exactly living down the street from each other, so do we call this dating? I call this a whole lotta phone calls, personally. (Some of which start out with “What’re you wearing?” but I can’t say that because Otto will be embarrassed.) (Oops!)
Anyway, I hope that answers the question. Or at least confuses you sufficiently that you don’t ask it anymore. Okay! Thanks!
In other news, we are headed down to Boston tomorrow! night! The time for the 3-Day is almost upon us, and all I can say with conviction at this point is: I hope I don’t embarrass myself too badly. It remains to be seen. I don’t feel ready, in so many ways. On the other hand, I survived last weekend, which I suspect may have actually been MORE exhausting than this will be. So we’ll just have to see how it goes. Also, my duffel bag has shrunk, and my tendency to overpack cannot be indulged when there is a size and weight limit and certain essential items that must be included (like a sleeping bag and a camping mat and six gallons of bug spray).
So I may be a wee bit scattered at this point, what with the bolting upright in bed in the middle of the night shrieking “CLOTHESPINS!!” and stopping short on a trek to the kitchen midday to yelp “EARPLUGS! MUST BUY EARPLUGS!” and such. This may not be the best time to ask me for anything, really.
In closing, let’s pretend you are as fascinated by the gingiva of my offspring as I am. Shall we? Yes! We shall! Remember this? And then I was all sad thinking that Monkey would lose his tooth while I was gone? I needn’t have worried. At this point, I’m pretty much convinced that he’s NEVER going to lose that tooth or any other.