Mr. Charming & the Minty Fresh First Date

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. I was trying to go on a first date. It would have helped things significantly if Mr. Charming and I hadn't had to keep canceling on one another. But let me rewind for you.

The last you had heard, Mr. Charming had reached out to me on Facebook. We chatted for a couple of hours, and it ended with him asking if I was free to "go get a drink or three" sometime in the next week. I told him my next night off was Wednesday.

To which he replied he would get back to me.

What?

I blinked, confused. Had I already broken some unspoken rules of flirtation by saying Wednesday? Should I have said Thursday? He asked me out. Was he already trying to back out of it? This is how insecure I am, folks.

"Doors Closing"

So there I was, just a couple of weeks ago, having one of those one-in-a-million days of absolute fabulousness. By all counts, I was on my A-game. I was coming home from a work function and a day of general bad-assery, and I looked hot. Have you had that kind of day? When everything feels like it's falling perfectly into place for your benefit? And your outfit is perfect, which racks up your confidence points like no one's business? I had on my favorite black pencil skirt with a super chic fuchsia blouse and those shoes. You know the ones. Not to mention my hair was completely on point. I felt great, and everything I'd set out to do that day, I had knocked out of the park. The Force was strong with me.

And there's nothing like that feeling of self-assuredness to really make you feel like you could have a man eating out of the palm of your hand if you wanted to. The even better part, though? I didn't care. I could make a guy putty for me, but I was too busy being fabulous to worry about men that day.

Me and my shoes have a world to conquer. Step aside.

Social Media & Why No One Is Going to Read This

This is not the post that was supposed to go up this week. I had written something entirely different, scheduled to go up on Tuesday but then delayed it because a story I thought was over suddenly picked up again. I knew the first blog would have to be edited to allow for continuation later.

In summary: I met someone. We found each other on social media (through a slightly embarrassing plot twist) and he asked me out for drinks. But then I got the brush off.

Bummer. Disappointment abounds. Etc. Etc. I already made plans to meet a girlfriend for drinks instead. Life goes on.

But not for my mother.

Mr. Note & the Mysterious Missing Effort

I would like to make a request…no, a plea to those persons asking other persons out on dates: You know that first dates suck. Can you please, please put some effort into trying to make the experience NOT SUCK?

Don't get me wrong. I realize it's not all your responsibility. Whether you are the asker or the askee, a first date is stressful, awkward, and just all-around wretched.

That said, as the asker, it is your responsibility to at least try to make it not horrible. You were the one who decided this was worth the risk after all. You looked at the other person and said "Yes. Yes that person is so potentially great that it would be worth putting myself through the torture of a first date to hopefully get to a second date [or whatever your endgame may be]."

Why the desperate plea with humanity? Well, I had a date last Sunday, with Mr. Note—who, no matter how hard I try to give him that nickname, just keeps ending up being referred to as Laundry Room Guy—and it was incredibly disappointing.

Mr. Note & Why You Should Do More Cute Things

An hour and a half ago, I sat down at my computer, opened up my blogger account, sighed and closed out of it.

Nothing to write about this week, I thought, not unless I want to do a soap box rant. Which, trust me, I have a couple of those stored up for just such an occasion, but I'm not in the mood to talk about Why Men Should Learn More About Body Language or Why Am I the Only Single Person in This Bar? today.

I was going to give it til the weekend and then decide whether or not I should just skip a week (gasp!), which I would rather not do because half the point of writing this blog is getting me in the habit of writing regularly, and meeting a self-imposed deadline.