|What is my age:||69|
|What is my nationaly:||Hungarian|
|Body type:||My figure type is quite fat|
|My favourite music:||Folk|
I could say all the guys here are slackers or Peter Pans who rarely make a genuine effort, or that the only way either sex ever really makes a move is through the Internet. But dating has never been easy for me, and in high school and college my love life was just as lethargic. As a teenager, I would binge on wine coolers, make out with the cute boy from my English class, and on Mondays either ignore him or obsess over him quietly.
As an undergrad, it was all the same only the details changed — a nineteenth-century lit class, a co-op party, and the option of hallucinogenics. At 21, I gave up hope that my romantic life would ever morph into a John Hughes film, and I met my first boyfriend.
After six years, he became my husband, and another eight years, my ex-husband. Initially all I thought I wanted was someone who played guitar, listened to the Replacements, and wore Sambas. And this pretty much describes my ex. He toured nine months of the year, liked bands on Touch and Go, and played soccer in college.
But I was still left shell-shocked. At 35, when most of my married friends were having kids and moving to the suburbs, I was single and struggling to make a living as a college instructor and freelance writer.
But, as my therapist soon pointed out, a lot happened while I was ensconced in couple-dom. I went to grad school twice and traveled to five continents. I also lost my dad and adopted a dog. Yet divorce left me stunted, and very cautious about dating.
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Thus, dating has become increasingly intentional. I continue to make so many mistakes despite my years of experience. But mistakes have led to some interesting adventures. I once dated a waiter-artist who was clearly a hoarder and possibly a Republican; a lifeguard-improvisational-comedian who rode a fixie and liked to call me Mrs.
But I learned a lot — about botany, hoarding, and fixies.
I learned that the quickest way to lose a friend is to date one, and the quickest way to ruin a group of friends is to date within the circle. I look at her and I wonder, how can she be having a tough time? She went on Craigslist, Yahoo Personals, and Match.
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And then my Obama-loving mama met a thrice-married Libertarian sheep rancher who lived outside of Lodi, and they fell madly in love. They were married by two Buddhist priests at an Italian restaurant off the side of a rural highway; she wore a purple dress, silver shoes, and pink flowers in her hair.
No one would flirt with me on the bus, kiss me at the stroke of midnight, or tell me they thought I was cute.
As I get older, my expectations continue to change. I forget I need to look up, pay attention, and actually make an effort to connect with other humans. But I admit now, I really do want to connect.
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