Where do you even FIND a frog these days?

The last time I was "in" the dating game, it was a completely different century. Let that sink in for a minute. The last time I "dated" anyone, I was 21 years old, dirt poor, living with my parents and a date meant heading to the local dive bar for pitcher night. If you were really lucky, there might be a movie involved.

To make a long story short, I lack the knowledge, skills and abilities to date as an adult. First of all, I don't really know any available, single, heterosexual males. This was my first objection to the elf-therapist's insistence that I "get out there". I mean, what the hell does that mean? Get out where? Date whom?

The Elf loves it when I resist his counsel, because provoking me is some kind of sport for him. As usual, he offered all kinds of suggestions to overcome my objections. He seems to forget that I am clever like a fox, and this time, I was prepared. The dialogue went something like this:

Elf: What about work? Surely there are single men at your office?
Princess: Uh, yeah. OLD guys, Elf. Not to mention it would be totally unprofessional and inappropriate for me to date anyone at work given my role. You know that. This is the stupidest idea you've had in a long time!

Elf: Um, okay. Well . . . what about church?
Princess: Nope. Haven't been there in a LONG time.

Elf: I see how this is going to go. Forget it. You're right. You're a total spinster. You'll die alone. In fact, this weekend, I'm going to go online and buy you one of those spinster hats.
Princess: Really, Elf? Reverse psychology? That's the best you've got? I'd like a refund for this session. You're not even trying, here.

Elf: Princess, you're not trying either. You're really being a pain in the ass. Do you want this or not?
Princess: Of course I do! I'm just telling you why it's hard!
Elf: Okay, okay. Let's try a different approach. What are you looking for in a man?

You get the idea. There was a lot more talking - about 50 minutes worth - where the Elf suggested that I check out random dudes in public who I found attractive. (Yes, I had objections to leering at strangers!) He also suggested that I ask my friends to set me up. (Whereas I pointed out that I don't really have enough friends for this to be a viable option).

Although I didn't like any of the Elf's suggestions, I had a problem on my hands. I needed to go out on a date, just to get the first one behind me. I needed to know that I was, in fact, "date-able" at all. So, I did what he said. No, not the leering at strange men. That's awkward. But I did publicize my singledom and mentioned that I was accepting applications for the position of date.

My friends, who are kind, caring, and smart enough to have a healthy sense of self-preservation, wisely abstained from setting me up on any blind dates. But . . . a former colleague fell into my trap and I was soon to meet Frog #1 - blind date frog.

© 2010 Princess D

Why I'm Kissing ANY Frogs

After 14 years of living in sin, my boyfriend and I realized that we needed to shit or get off the pot. I voted in favor of a high fiber diet and a wedding - and he decided to get off the pot as fast as humanly possible. And overnight, I became a single woman in her mid-thirties who hadn't dated since the 1990's. Or, as they say in France, a cliche.

After spending the requisite amount of time weeping, watching Lifetime movies starring Tori Spelling and/or Meredith Baxter-Birney, eating a Haagen-Daz-centric diet, and seriously considering joining a convent, my friends staged an intervention. Well, friends is an exaggeration, since apparently, you're supposed to check in with your friends more often than once every 14 years and it appeared that I lost most of mine while cohabiting with Mr. Wrong.

So, my one friend staged an intervention and politely suggested that if I was unable or unwilling to cease the waterworks, I might want to consider "talking to a professional" about my feelings. She later admitted that my 2 AM phone calls were causing sleep deprivation for her entire household and that all the sobbing was making her a little nervous.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not anti-therapy. I'm all for therapy - for other people. I mean, there are a lot of crazies out there. I've been to Wal-mart. I've seen them up close. But there I was, at rock bottom, and I thought to myself, "Self," I thought, "How could seeing a therapist make things any worse than they already are?" And off I went.

My therapist is an elfin creature with a funny name. I've known him for a couple of years. During a rough patch, Mr. Wrong & I visited the Elf for couples counseling. Back then, I hated him. (The elf-therapist, not Mr. Wrong.) The only reason I contacted him this time was sheer laziness. I didn't want to expend the effort to find a new therapist and have to tell my whole darned story over again.

In the nine months since Mr. Wrong moved out, I've seen the Elf 40 times, and he's grown on me. I'll tell you that embarrassing story another time, though. A couple of months ago, the Elf told me that it was time to start dating again.

After weeks of fighting about whether or not that such a hot idea, the Elf dropped a bomb on me. "Princess," he said, "there are some people who are built for relationships. You're one of them. I want you to find the love that you're looking for and that you deserve. But you have to make an effort."

And that is the story of how this princess began kissing frogs.

© 2010 Princess D