So the very first entry of this lovely blog illustrated my amazingly exciting love life... you know the one where I live in my parent's basement and haven't really dated in over 2 years...remember, that one? Yeah, so there appears to be a turn of events. My phone, which has seen about as much action as I have, is suddenly getting calls from men the matchmaker has set me up with (with my approval of course :-). My once empty email box is filling up with men asking if I am available this weekend (heck no, make them work for it!) and if they can fly out to see me or buy me a plane ticket to come meet them (most are out of state).
Wow, where did this come from? How did I go from dateless girl to girl wonder? I am not going to play shy and humble, I am aware I am attractive. I come from attractive stock. Yay me. But to go from catching a few eyes as I walk down the street, to setting up dates with multi-millionaires (yes, some of these guys are very affluent) seems to be a crazy turn of events. And it begs the question, why do I need a professional matchmaker to get a date with someone who isn't a complete loser?
I guess I should admit it right now, I am a sucker for the blue collar worker. If there is a starving artist, penniless grad student, or broke construction worker within a 40 mile radius I am inevitably attracted to them. They generally can't pay for a meal much less make rent on time, but for some reason, that is my type. But now, I find myself talking with men who know who the GOP candidates are and that The Economist is a magazine, not just some guy who knows about money. They know how to use a knife and a fork simultaneously rather than just hacking away at their meal with the side of a fork until it resembles ground beef. They speak 3 languages fluently and travel to Europe several times a year. Perhaps they even own a home over there.
So here I am, talking with these amazingly worldly men (who are looking to get married!) and all I can think about is how they wouldn't know how to change a flat tire. What the hell is wrong with me?! Who cares if they know how to change a tire, they can hire someone to do that! Hell they could buy their own Les Schwab and have one of the roadside trucks follow them around for the rest of eternity! How can I actually think that staying at home with the starving artist, or more accurately, going out with the starving artist and paying for both our meals, is more appealing than flying first class to Spain of an all expenses paid vacation? I think I need psychological help. Someone quick, call me a doctor!
