I love dating! I love the butterflies before the first date, and the awkward first kiss. Not only do I love it, but I am also good at it. I mean GOOD good. For some reason though, I keep meeting the wrong guys, the kind of guys that just don’t appreciate a good woman when they see one.

You know, like once, I liked this guy, and he gave me his phone number. Score one for me, I thought. So I called him a couple of times an hour just to see how he was and what he was doing, you know, to show that I was concerned about him. He was probably really flattered, but something happened and his phone got disconnected. It must have been serious because I never heard from him again. At first I was worried, so I did a little research and tracked down a number of family members and friends to ask them about him. They were really no help. After a couple of years I gave up.

Then there was this guy that I saw on the subway a couple of times. One day on the way to my apartment, I saw him walking home. I quickly noted the address and went through the phone book, line by line, until I found that address. JACKPOT! I now had a name to go with the face. The next day I left a little anonymous note on his door:

“You don’t know me, but I know you!” With a little smiley face at the end.

A little note just to show that I care. If more people were as thoughtful as me the world would be a much better place. In the following weeks I left dozens of notes.

“I’ve got my eye on you”

“I know how special you are”

Then I figured the ice was broken, so I started calling him. The next week, he moved, and just when we were getting somewhere. Story of my life. I guess it wasn’t meant to be, so I went back to the drawing board.

I was at my lowest when I met Joe. When I called him up he liked it. And when we had plans, he showed up. It was great. I was so happy. And, naturally, when we were not together I’d miss him, so I would make sure to walk past his apartment at least once a day, just hoping for the nonchalant “Fancy seeing you here” chance meeting. And then at least once in the middle of the night I would happen past his apartment. Then, one day I called him and he wasn’t there. WHERE WAS HE???? I was going
insane thinking of the possibilities -- I just couldn’t stand it! So I ran over to his apartment and waited downstairs for him to come home. Two days later he showed up. It turned out it was his grandfather’s birthday and he
had gone home for the weekend. Thank God he was okay!

After that he thought that maybe we should spend some time apart. I said “sure” and started calling him every few minutes, just to check on him. Hey, the phone is “apart,” right? Apparently he disagreed and got a restraining order. I tried to tell the judge that I was just being me and she said, “Perhaps that’s the problem.” Whatever that means.

Now I’m back to the drawing board, but I have not given up hope. No sir, I still look around on the subway, hoping to find someone worthy of following home, and I still tell little fibs about myself to make me sound more interesting, just in case Mr. Right is listening in. For instance, boys, I just love Love LOVE baseball and pillow fights. No really, I do. Hey, you know what? Thanks for listening. We should hang out sometime. I’ll call you.