After announcing my intention to date thirty men in three months, the words “insane,” “impossible,” and “suicide” came to mind. Thirty men in three months? Really? If I had that sort of luck I wouldn’t be 25 and single in the first place. Nor would I be cruising Facebook only to find myself green with envy and disappointed when I find another college classmate has gone from “in a relationship” to “engaged.” And I certainly wouldn’t be sitting at my desk and humming “Another One Bites the Dust” when that same “engaged” becomes “married” a few months later.
To put it frankly, if I was lucky enough to land myself a date with ten men every month, I wouldn’t be on match.com in the first place.
I started thinking that maybe I should set my sights on a more realistic goal, such as finding myself a Plus One for the annual Hooper’s Island Martini Bar Soiree (an event that I believe most families call Thanksgiving). I was thinking I should cry uncle and give up on this whole online dating experiment—but then I got freshly pressed.
In blog parlance, this means that After I Quit My Day Job was featured in the “Freshly Pressed” section of the WordPress homepage. This is a major coup in terms of my writing career (a huge thank you to Joy at WordPress and to everyone who was nice enough—or perhaps just bored enough?—to stop by!) but it’s had a rather unexpected side effect. Instead of announcing my “30 Dates in 3 Months” plan to the two or three hundred people who regularly read my blog, I’ve now gone and told nearly 19,000.
Nineteen thousand. That’s an awful lot of readers to disappoint.
Of course the woman who accused me of being both ignorant and prejudiced in regards to my portrayal of the American south (in response to an old entry from my days at The Shop) won’t be disappointed. She won’t be back. Nor, I suspect, will the man who said that women like me (and the “female power ladies” now following my blog) that give men free reign to discuss their “sexploits” and to objectify their female conquests in the process.
My first response was, “Chicken or egg, buddy?” (Especially because I’m not even talking about sex.) My second response was, “Hmm… two wrongs don’t make a right.” My third and final response, however, was to stop concentrating on the negative vibes brought in by Freshly Pressed and to start concentrating on the positive props from my new peeps.
(And yes, I’ve just added “Coming up with cool gangsta rap names” to my list of hobbies on Match.com.)
Thanks to my new homeboys and girls, I’m no longer thinking that this whole 30-Dates-in-3-Months idea is “impossible.” Insane yes, but not impossible. I’m now thinking I can do this and while we’re on the subject, yes, Nice French Speaking Lady, my outfit for Date #5 was tres adorable, wasn’t it?
I’ve never thought of myself as particularly “brave,” “inspiring,” “funny” or “energetic” (really, me? Energetic? I could nap for all of Nigeria and according to the trusty World Population Map that hangs above my bed Nigeria has a population of 141 million!). According to yesterday’s comments, however, I’m all of the above.
Having earned myself such a fabulous (albeit bizarre) reputation, I’m going to do my best to uphold it: 30-Dates-in-3-Months, here I come! Wish me luck. Or if you’re a man between the ages of 25 and 35 living within a ten mile radius of Philadelphia, take cover.