Monday, not so much

I think it's time I tackle my dating patterns. While this is probably best done by a shrink, I think my tendency towards comfort eating and countless hours of daytime TV logged over the years have left me just as qualified as any. 

Date # 2 aka 6. I tried to pop that zit about an hour before the date. Take it from me. Never do this. It just turned a fairly noticeable white head into a oozing bloody welt. Cutting bangs was too dicey considering the only time I cut hair was about 20 years ago on my barbie and she ended up losing her head. So, As I packed foundation into my open wound, I realized the night was going to be slightly less than magical. 

Don't get me wrong, I haven't completely discounted him, but here's what I think happened. I think I spent the whole first date trying to make myself look good and the second date, well I spend it judging him. We were both tired and didn't make reservations (since it was his turn to pick the place) and we just ended up going to ten stone, which is hit or miss. It was loud and there was a group of drunk barely legal dudes next to me and one had his ass in my face. The convo was fairly strained, mostly because of all of the drunkies around us, and me not being one of them. Believe me, I tried. But the beers weren't taking. And all I got was a general sense of self involvement. Even in the making out. I thought the point of dating an older man was that they had already outgrown the bullshit. 

Anyway. I think he's feeling the same way cause we haven't really spoken since then, aside from the random short texts. I may be willing to give him another shot. Maybe it was just an off night, and otherwise I'm heading back to No Man Land. But the butterflies have gone, or at least have been placed in a jar and someone forgot the air holes. C'est le vie. Bring on on the cats.