Dating at Your Own Level - At Your Own Risk

I’d like to dedicate this blog entry to my dear friend Mark and to the Snake. Without your well-intentioned counsel (Mark) and your total disregard for my feelings (Snake), I would most certainly have failed to make the acquaintance of Frog #11. I’m not sure if I should thank you or say, “I told you so!”

There is a small subset of the kingdom who believes that this princess dates beneath her level. I’ve pointed out that as a nearly six foot tall women with a penchant for high heels, pretty much everyone winds up being beneath me, but apparently, I was being too literal. My friend Mark has appointed himself the spokesmodel for the “date at your own level” campaign and I can hear him cringe when I relay tales of the various garbage collectors, maintenance dudes, gutter cleaners and house painters I accompany to high-falluting joints like the VFW, American Legion, and any bowling alley with a ½ off coupon. (Side note: I seem to have a very patriotic fan base. Is that so wrong?)

Mark recently staged a verbal intervention/come to Jesus meeting with me. The topic was, of course, dating at my own level, and the suggested action plan was . . . uh . . . try it. This of course, assumes that I am purposely and deliberately not choosing available men who are at my level and who meet the nine commandments. To find a man with hair, teeth, a job, the correct waist-to-inseam ratio without a bunch of tadpoles is like finding a needle in a haystack, folks. Regardless, Mark’s well-intentioned advice stuck with me and I realized that I would probably not live happily ever after with a vacuum cleaner salesman.

It was this helpful advice that led me back to the lazy person’s dating vehicle, also known as www.plentyoffrogs.com. I lack the self-confidence, makeup and wardrobe required to meet men in real life. Aside from a mentally ill homeless man who followed me twelve blocks through the downtown area (and who also yelled at me, but that’s another story), I’m not the kind of gal that gets hit on or picked up. Ever. Could I try harder? Of course. But it’s easier to sit in my pj’s, drink a beer, and cruise the internet for frogs.

I made the acquaintance of Frog #11 online, and since he met the minimum qualifications (hair, teeth, job, and currently living in the US), I agreed to a meet and greet. As we planned our first encounter, we discovered that we live less than a mile from each other, so we met in the ‘hood for a drink.

My first impressions were as follows:
1. Nice hair and teeth
2. Hmmm. He is apparently “pro-cuss”. I like it.
3. Wow. He has a real job. JUST LIKE ME.
4. Holy shit – did he just pick up the check?!?!

We went our separate ways with a vague and loose plan to maybe get together again, which neither of us followed up on, and he very nearly escaped becoming Frog #11. Enter the Snake to explain what happened next.

Now, to say that Snake and I have a complicated relationship is like saying that math is hard. In other words, it’s the understatement of the century. I spend more time with Snake than any other human being I know; we talk, we laugh, and we have a good time. Our relationship confuses a lot of folks who wonder if we’re dating (no); why we’re not dating (bad idea); and if we’re lying when we answer questions one and two (maybe).

Here’s the thing. I really do love Snake. He is one of my favorite people to hang out with. I know that if I need him, he’ll show up for me. And in his own way, Snake loves me too. At the end of the day, though, Snake is . . . a snake. His favorite activity is to prey on unsuspecting women and trap them in his lair. He tells the ladies anything they want to hear, and he is firm believer in recycling. If a line works, he will use it over and over until it is no longer effective. Listening to him tell woman after woman that they would have adorable babies together; that he can really see a future with them; and that they are beautiful inside and out has jaded me.

So, I love me some Snake but he is a playa. The Elf-Therapist has made it very clear that I need to reduce the Snake factor in order to increase the likelihood of a frog becoming a prince. Yeah – it’s a complicated metaphor AND biological phenomenon. So, the combination of Mark’s invention and a concentrated Snake reduction plan led me to consider an encore performance with Frog #11. To be honest, it was when Snake took a call from a girl and “shushed” me so he could charm her – while we were having dinner together - that I texted Frog #11 and asked him to meet me for a drink.

As it turns out, there is a very fine line between interesting and asshole. Further exposure to Frog #11 has made this abundantly clear. He might be very smart and educated, or he might be a massive, opinionated tool. The more time I spend with him, the less sure I am. For example, what kind of person refuses to help others and then brags about it? Is this the kind of first impression you want to make? Frog #11 votes yes. Ditto for what kind of parent refuses to buy Girl Scout cookies from their 10 year old daughter. And apparently, I’ve lucked out and met a self-appointed expert on everything.

I think my favorite Frog #11 story is the serial killer story. We were having dinner and he was spinning a yarn about something and referenced the serial killer, Ed Bundy. I politely asked if he meant Ted Bundy, and he vehemently argued that I was wrong. For the better part of an hour. You decide.

On the one hand, dating at my level is interesting and he is a good kisser. On the other hand, I spend way more time fantasizing about hitting him with a brick than anything else. Perhaps this is what normal looks like . . . Are you happy now, Mark?

© 2011 Princess D