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Dating Diary:
Wrong number...
Dear Diary,
WHERE WERE WE?
The other day I found myself looking for my mojo. It hadn't even occurred to me that I had misplaced it, but after another Friday night spent sitting on the couch, it dawned on me that I hadn't seen it in a while. Quickly, I did a survey of my room, but no mojo there. My mind raced. Where did I put it last? Maybe it went into the laundry with my little black dress, only to disappear into the vortex that is my washing machine. Maybe I left it with my last boyfriend, who also conveniently forgot to return some of my other stuff. Hmm, the way things were left, I doubt he'd want to return anything to me. Defeated, I retreated to the couch, sans mojo, and braced myself for another riveting episode of "Sex and the City." Wait! I thought excitedly. I saw this in a movie - when Austin Powers lost his mojo it turned out that Dr. Evil had stolen it in another hair-brained attempt to rule the world. I mused at the thought of my evil doppelganger somewhere out there, getting lucky with my mojo. I dissolved into hysterical giggles, but the moment passed and I trudged to the kitchen (rather depressed by now) to eat a pint of mint chocolate chip.There's this strange phenomenon that occurs to me whenever I'm in a relationship. Suddenly, men start crawling from the woodwork and, hello, actually start paying some sort of attention to me. Then, when I become blatantly available, they crawl back to wherever they came from and I'm left to have a couple of steamy dates with my television. In a long-term relationship, I've sometimes pondered if I still have "it," but apparently "it" only exists when I'm attached to someone else. It's like men have this radar that spots out unavailable women, and are inexplicably drawn to flirt in the hopes of stealing someone else's girlfriend. I'm tempted to fabricate a fiancé just to get a date. Of course, who would really want to date a man who thinks he's dating someone with a fiancé?
My romantic life, for the past couple of months, resembles something like a knock-off of 40 Days and 40 Nights. Like Matt, I've gone the celibate route. Unlike Matt, my chastity has not exactly been voluntary.
After months of incessant whining, a kind friend took pity on me and suggested that she set me up with one of her friends. Now, I've never done this sort of thing before, but I figured that I had nothing to lose and besides, she spoke very highly (though honestly) of him. Yes! I was finally going up to bat after warming the bench all eight innings. Now was the time to see if I could still "play" in the big leagues. Or, at least, see if I still had my groove.
I call, trying to sound all casual (don't think I play it off well though), and he seems game enough. Ooh, strike one. He lobs me a joke and it completely goes over my head (in my defence, jokes are supposed to have some humour, no?) Shoot, strike two. Seems that so far, we have nothing in common. I'm tempted to call a time out. Part of the fact that it seems we have nothing in common is probably due to the lack of reciprocal questions on his part (hey, I can be interesting…most of the time). He seems to be rethinking his pitching strategy. I can sense it with the lingering silences, which just keep getting longer and longer. A bale of hay whooshes through my room. I rack my brain for things to say, but can only come up with "that's good" when he says something (f.y.i.: I use that term a lot, and it's usually because I really have nothing to say). And…strike three, I'm out. The conversation ends abruptly, and we shake hands. We mutually agree that it was a good game, but we should never do that again. I consider telling him I have a fiancé, but think better of it (mostly because he'll probably find out from our mutual friend that I don't).
Well, I'm out of the game, and coach will most undoubtedly send me back to the minors. I told him that the game was rigged, but he didn't believe me. ¤ C.Ho.
Next month: Christine places a missing persons ad in the paper. For her mojo.