Ah Crap

Six months into joining www.my-master's-degree-actually-decreased-my-chances-of-getting-married.com, I have been matched with nearly 1000 men in the Phoenix area. I estimate I've communicated in one way or another with 150 men. I've gone on 5 first dates and 2 second dates. To recap there was The Lawyer, then the guy who quit his job to focus on school but was actually ditching class the day of our first date, the super sweet guy who helped me paint, the guy who lied about having a baby, and last week, the photographer on-the-side stockbroker.

I've openly admitted I have very little experience with first dates. Other than the T-Shirt Guy I had been friends with my serious boyfriends for quite a while prior to conning them into loving me. In spite of my naivete I feel like I've been doing a pretty good job. I think. I cover all the basics: Polite manners? Check. Cute outfit? Check. Plethora of funny stories? Duh, check. Just to make sure, I like to go over all important points with my colleagues.

The entire English department is made well aware of my upcoming dates and are also privy to the post-date wrap-up, whether they want to hear it or not. As far as I'm concerned, it is their duty as literary experts to listen to me tell my tales. (I mean, my well developed dating narratives are definitely on par with the likes of Jane Austen, Shakespeare and Homer. What, no?) Or at the very least humor me and my silly sensibilities, whichever.

Tomorrow I will be filling them in on my date last night. This was a second date with The Stockbroker who is perfectly nice. He's successful and bright, funny and ambitious, tall, drives a nice car and most importantly, he has a dog. Truth be told, I went on this second date at the urging of some of the other teachers.

The first date was somewhat of a bust similar to the other first dates. He was nervous and a bit shy and I was nervously babbling on and on. It was a Wednesday and after a stroll through the park with the pups, who, by the way, got along splendidly, we drove to a sports bar to grab a bite. Well, kids, let's just put it out there, I'm 29 and it was a school night and damn it, I was tired! We chatted a bit but I wouldn't exactly say he knocked my socks off, figuratively speaking.

At lunch the following day, my colleagues were thoughtfully eager to get the scoop.

"Eh," I said, "it was fine. I don't know. No spark."

"Oh god, you are turning into Elaine Benes,"exclaimed my favorite 5'9", grey bearded, uber liberal, female pop-star impersonating, rogue, back-up plan sperm donor.

Defensively I yell, "Nuh uh!... Wait, how so?"

Future baby daddy proceeds to explain that I seem to find minor issues with all these guys I've gone on first dates with; insignificant flaws that I use as excuses to not go out with them again.

"That's absolutely not true!" I shoot back.

Flash of memories involving things I thought during dates: Guys should have clean fingernails. His cologne smells like a retirement home. His right ear is larger than his left. He already forgot I love Radiohead even though I said it 7 minutes ago.

Reactionary inner monologue: Ah crap.

Wait! This can't be happening! I know I want to find the one. You know I want to find the one. My next door neighbor, dog trainer and the guy who takes my order at Pei Wei do too. So if the majority of Phoenicians agree I'm ready to find the one, then why am I picking these guys apart? Simple answer, none of these 5 guys are in fact, the one. Scary answer, I'm subconsciously knocking down every guy who walks through the door out of fear, insecurity and the inability to move forward and not leaving room for the possibility that they are just nervous.

I quickly decided to accept an invitation for a second date and again, it was fine. Yummy Mexican food, lovely weather on the patio, good conversation. The thing is, I left with the same conclusion, no spark. Oh well.

There is one secret advantage to not finding the one: the infamous Elaine dance moves including the thumbs up, elbows out, hair flipping, slow kicks won't have to be seen at my wedding!

Goal Interrupted

The whole point of this ingenious blog was to provide motivation to find me a hubby. It's not that I need to be married in 1 year per se (although that would be freakin' sweet) more so that I need to keep my goal in sight and live accordingly. Before you even say it, I've heard it all:
"It'll happen when you're least expecting it."
"Stop looking and you'll find him."
"Good things come to those who wait."
"Enjoy your single years because once you're married you'll never feel so free again."

Great, thanks. I'm sure all that advice is true for someone and I hate to burst all of your well-intended bubbles. However, my reality is that I'm 29, my grey hair count is now a staggering 7 and last week I attended a Bunco night where I was literally the only single woman. Ask yourself, is there anything in your life that you truly wanted that you didn't work hard for? I didn't think so.

But I digress, the purpose was to keep me on track with my goal and disappointingly I have once again lost my way. No, I didn't stop wanting to walk down that blissful aisle. Instead I veered off path with that all too common danger, The Frex (copyright pending.) The Frex is exactly what you think; the friend who is also the ex. Man, The Frex is tricky. And the thing is, you are more than aware of the risks. Every friend, family member, acquaintance, mental health professional and even other frexes warn you, often. So yes, I knew the possible perils.

The trickiness of The Frex exists in the details not discussed. For example, it's okay to ask about each other's days but not okay to ask about each other's plans this Friday night. Or it's okay to have frex-sex but not hold hands while watching a movie on the couch. Or my personal favorite, it's okay to spend the whole weekend together as long as we don't speak for a couple days afterward.

The Frex and I enjoyed months of Frexship. We cooked dinners, worked on my house, took the pups to the park, attended concerts, watched movies, played games, went shopping, and spent time, well, in bed. I ignored the warnings because dammit, I was having too good of a time to stop. For the first time in my life I chose to simply enjoy the moment, live in the present, carpe diem and whatever else those crazy non-worriers do.

Nevertheless we all know how this tale ends because the truth is The Frexship, while congenial and comfortable and convenient, is, by definition, ill-fated. The heart can only fool itself for so long and our time has run out. One of the Frexes moves on or moves away and the remaining Frex must find a way to accept this totally reasonable yet painful decision. And therein lies the rub.

Right now you may be saying to yourself, Jocelyn, where's the silver lining in all this frightening Frex talk? Well, my friends, the upside is that I'm back in the game. Hubby-hunting is in season and I'm loaded for bear. In fact, I've got a date this week. You never know! Maybe it'll happen when I'm least expecting it!