I crossed the line between being single and being desperate somewhere in my twenties.
I guess it can be traced back to the point when I began using my free time to Google ‘quotes about loneliness’.
See here some an excerpt from my life when I was a single lesbian living alone, (dignity not included):
So I asked a woman out on a date not being sure whether it is a date or not. (And also not being sure if she is straight or not.) I avoided using the term ‘hanging out’ when I asked (via text I might add, because I don’t have the balls) thinking that it would somehow make my intentions clearer. Clearly not.
I’m yet to even figure out what I would define as a date. I guess it is whether I like the person enough and if we are alone together and have planned it thusly. So far so good.
Don’t even ask me how I managed to ask this person to spend any amount of time with me voluntarily. I’m still not sure whether I have misjudged our fleeting eye contact and several passing greetings as something more than exactly that. I do have a tendency to mistake good customer service as a come-on. But she agreed to meet me; that’s the important thing.
My grasp of flirting consists mainly of smiling in a goofy fashion at all times in her presence. The description ‘not all there’ comes to mind when I lose sleep reliving these moments, thinking of things much wittier than what I said. God help any women out there who have shown any slight or accidental affection towards me.
In true nerdy form I have been getting my expectations up for something that has probably barely crossed her mind. Yes, I have tried on the clothes I will be wearing when I see her even though that won’t be for three days. I have even, in a painful display of optimism, changed my bed sheets. Not that I have any idea how to get a woman within three-hundred metres of my boudoir. And even if I got her there, I’m not confident I would know what to do. In fact, my actual reasoning that I have prepared my bed is just in case she has too much to drink and needs somewhere to sleep while I curl up in the corner under a throw rug. It’s my version of modern romance.
That right, ladies, get ready for a wild ride, because when it comes to lovers, I like to start with a first course of bumbling, awkward interactions followed by a progressive friendship of about two to three years. That’s how I roll, bitches.
Adventures In Loserville 