When I was up at UT, I was the definition of out of control. I was a shit show. I was that girl. And while I still do make the occasional horrible, terrible, no good, very bad decision, these days I'm pretty lame. I'd love to say that I'm dangerous or mysterious or have some sort of description that wasn't fit for an 86 year old woman. Alas, here I am. Twenty five going on 94. I think the most rebellious thing I've done this week is see how long my car can go without gas or wear my underwear inside out. Ok, wearing my underwear inside out was an accident but that's besides the point. The truth is that I'm a totally little boring. I've been in denial about this for quite some time - two years at least. I remember the first time my parents called me to house/dog sit while they went out of town (knowing that my older brother would be at his house, right around the corner all weekend long) and the first thing that popped into my head? "When in the sam hell did I become the responsible child?" Moral of the story is: I don't dig it. I do like that my family can rely on me - though it can put a serious cramp in my style sometimes (like when they need a late ride home from the airport... and I am forced to get into bed after 10). Time to start (or stop? as the case may be - I don't know how 25 year olds are "supposed" to act) acting my age.
Prologue: Don't get me wrong. I'm very content being single. Relationships aren't... um... well, I guess they just aren't my strong point. I like my alone time and I like hanging out with my friends and I don't want someone around all the time. But the rate at which all of my friends are getting married and procreating has put me into a bit of a frenzy. It makes me really nervous, actually. I will joke until my dying day about being a cat lady one day. The only problem is I hate cats. Oh, and I bore myself. So I'm thinking that the only way I could live alone with a bunch of cats is if I'm actually not alive. Not alive at all. Dead as a door nail. Becoming cat food... sorry, too far.
With that being said I have two words for you: speed. dating. HA. I laugh at the mere thought of me going and trying this out. A friend of mine has talked about this with me and has agreed to accompany me should I actually grow the cajones to do this. (We've agreed that we aren't allowed to sit next to each other OR across the room from each other because we would inevitably get the "church" giggles.) Has anyone done this? Does this happen in real life or is this something that strictly takes place in romantic comedies on TV or in movies? I need to know...
Then there is online dating. I signed up for plentyoffish because my friends were doing it. Worst mistake of our lives. Everyone on that site (or at least everyone that contacted US) were fucking pervs. I guess that's to be expected since it's free? I don't know. I've toyed with the idea of signing up for eharmony or match. I really don't know that I could meet a complete stranger in public though. Sure, he may look totally legit, but he could also kidnap me, throw me in a well and coax me to moisturize my skin so he could make a Shannon-suit. I'm going to stick with the advice my folks gave me when I was a youngin' and steer clear of the strangers.
Ricky-poo, being the thoughtful father that he is, has suggested multiple times that I go to his church's singles group. Ok. There are a few flaws in his plan. First and foremost being that all members of his church are eligible for AARP. I know some of my friends are thinking, "But, Shannon, you love old dudes," and you are 100% correct. However, I like it when men have teeth and weren't in WWII. I know, I'm picky. The next problem with the idea of single's groups stemming from churches or meeting someone at church in general is that I would judge the shit out of them. Yes, I'm aware of the hypocrisy of this statement. Maybe they are there to meet a nice, respectable young lass. But that's not me. I'm crude, wildly inappropriate and demented. (For example, a friend of mine is going through RCIA and I was telling her what she should say in confession. "Premarital sex is pretty much my favorite" may or may not have been something I not only thought about saying but typed in an email. And now on this blog.) On the other hand, I don't want to meet anyone in a bar either. I'd like to think that I'm above that - enter hysterical laughter here.
Let me finish this personally humiliating post by reassuring you that I know I'm horribly hypocritical. And judgemental. I should tell you that I am working on becoming a better person but that's a lie. I just need to find boundaries. And an inner-monologue. I suppose that's what this stupid fucking blog is for.
Happy Hump-day, lovers. I've been kicking it old school recently... I'm gonna keep on keepin' on. Love you. Mean it.