Current mood: dorky
I can't find my watch
I can't find my wallet
So how in the Hell am I supposed to find
The one that I love, the one that I need?
~'Amelia's Missing' by Jon McLaughlin
I am 31 years old – almost 32 if we are being completely honest. I have been married and divorced twice. I am no shy virgin, looking for her first true love. I have been out of the dating scene for almost 12 years. I do not know the art of flirting "with intent". I know how to flirt "without intent". Make eye contact, smile, lean forward, act interested (ahem, I mean, 'be interested'), laugh when appropriate, and touch the arm or the leg momentarily, then withdraw. All while knowing that you are just having fun and have a loving husband/boyfriend/fiancée at home – so it means nothing. In fact, the protection of the ring is one of the reasons it is easy to flirt – because there is no rejection without intent.
But now, I have no significant other – I don't really have an insignificant other. I have me – and a dog and cat – that's it. I don't want a one-night stand – but I could use a fun-loving, non-clingy, good looking boy who appreciates an emotionally withdrawn, text message addict in her early thirties. I like to think of the movie, "Must Love Dogs", where the main character ends up with John Cusack. I am good with that scenario. I look for someone who just wants to hang out and end up with Lloyd Dobbler – who happened to be a kick boxer. Hmmm . . . . makes me wonder if perhaps I have gone about something all wrong.
I am way off track here . . . kick boxers have that effect on me. .. *stand by*
Anyway – back to the art of flirtation. I am not good at silly mind games. I can never tell when someone is flirting with me – so I don't know when to encourage and when to discourage. What this means is that I generally send out wrong signals. I mean to put up the flashing yellow – allowing them to proceed with caution – and they take it as a "Bridge Out" sign and turn around. While the daredevil morons see the sign and slam down the accelerator. Are these metaphors making any sense?
I think my Director's knack for really bad examples has been absorbed into my brain.
What I am trying to say is that I need a few lessons on social discourse. It was much easier in the Victorian era when I could just giggle behind a fan, and use my dowry to pick up a Duke or Viscount. Now – I am stuck with two jobs, no dowry, and a kitchen-less house. I think I took a wrong turn in Albuquerque!
PERSONAL NOTE: Yes, I was flirting. Ugh, now I am embarrassed. Bloody Hell!
