Wake Up Call

Let’s back up…

I’m not a girl, yet not quite a lady. I’m old enough to be married with 10 year-old kids, but never went that route. Mainly because nobody ever asked. And, also because I tend to run away from relationships involving men I can’t stand. Which tends to be most of them after 6 months or so. The ones I can stand, I set free in an act of random kindness. “Random” being the key word “Blindsided” has also been bandied about.We often end up great friends and I send them pictures of my cats and they send me pictures of their kids with Santa or Demi Lovato and we joke about the olden days when I had them convinced I was carefree (suckers!).

I like men. I’m friends with loads of them. I just don’t seem to be able to date them very well.

Oh, I’ve been to therapists (which really loses its appeal after you quit smoking and can’t wave your lit cigarette, Bette Davis-style, while you blame everything on your father). And done all of the self-analysis. I own the entire Sex & The City DVD collection. I know I’m afraid of rejection. But here’s the catch: somehow, somewhere I decided the only men I can be attracted to are the ones I see as too good for me. And not just the unmeetable witty actors, bleeding songwriters and altruistic athletes; common folk, too. If I see a beautful man at a party and he opens his mouth and says something clever I immediately obsess about how (a) old (b) still not skinny enough or (c) both I am. However, if he’s a complete jerk, I feel gorgeous.

For years, decades even, this all kind of worked for me. I have successfully avoided personal rejection for 5 years. FIVE YEARS! Mainly because the last time it happened to me, I was living with the guy and he was so truly awful to me on a daily basis that I actually left a brand new shiny life on the west coast to crawl back to my loathed hometown in Florida to pick up my pieces.

I’ve quite obviously done a bang-up job of getting over him!

Seriously, I’m over him…but not the fear of dating another him.

Which brings me to today. New Year’s Day, 2010. The day I decided enough was enough. I don’t want to trip and fall in my bathroom, crack my head on the tile and not be found by anyone for 3 days. My cats are smart, but they don’t know how to open the bag of Purina One and I don’t want my friends and family to see a half-eaten head in my casket. I’m tired of yelling at NBA games by myself. And seeing that look on the pimply checkout boy’s face when he sees my cat litter, tampons, and Lean Cuisine pizza.

I don’t want to be that weird old lady in the hockey jersey and ball cap with ten cats and a house that smells like Listerine. I DON’T WANT TO BE HER!

I’m thinking I may want kids after all…and a family to go see “Avatar” with and go to Six Flags with. And argue over the remote with. And hide Christmas presents with.

And this is not only because I don’t want to die alone. It’s because I don’t want to die disappointed. I’m still waiting for the one true love of my life. I know he’s out there. I refuse to ever stop believing that. If I do, then I’m buying a vibrating recliner and lifetime supply of frozen corn dogs.

Could this be my year? More importantly…should this be my year? I lost 40 pounds (thank you, Weight Watchers snack cakes). I’m going to a gym 3-5 times a week. I’m in a size 8, which I haven’t worn in a very long time (my goal is a 4. Yeah, it’s hilarious, I know). But here’s my question: if you’re no longer 25 and you’re not tan, blonde, famous or the daughter of a tycoon…should you even bother? Do attractive, intelligent, interesting men really give imperfect, older women a chance?

They do in movies. Movies starring Michelle Pfieffer. But what about real life?

Because most of the men my age (let’s say “30-45″) I’ve witnessed on dating sites do NOT want to know if you’ve read any good books lately. But I have! And I’ve tried new foods and seen great movies! Does anyone care? Anyone who doesn’t look like Uncle Fester?

I think I might give dating another try this year. I know what I’m looking for but I don’t know if it exists. And if it does, and I find it, I don’t know if it will like me.

It’s scary, but selling myself short is even scarier.

I’ll let you know what happens…

Love & beer,

Kiki