Now, I’ve never been all that good at getting dates. Back in the days of boys, at least it was easier to spot potentials. And – ironically – since I’ve been out of the closet, I’ve been asked out by more random guys than I have in the rest of my life. But it used to be that I was always the girl who became friends with the guys and THEN came the game of making myself irresistible so they couldn’t help but want to date me. And then they’d ask me out. And then I’d go out with them. And then dump them shortly thereafter, since the game-part was over and what’s the challenge in dating someone who wants to be with you?
But now, I don’t even know who to approach (if I were one to do the approaching). I don’t know if I set off other lesbian’s gaydar as potential for someone else. And if a chick were actually hitting on me, I’m not sure I’d be smart enough to pick up on it. I can be so incredibly dense sometimes — I’ve often told my friends, if you’re trying to tell me something, lose the subtlety because I simply don’t notice until you hit me smack over the head with it.
I’ve tried the online dating thing. I’ve met some people, but very little luck in terms of finding someone that I’d want to date. And in real life? Let’s just say that if I’m meeting potential dates, I haven’t the faintest clue.
I know I need to get myself out there more. Go to gay events, maybe find a local support group. And that scares the beejesus out of me. I’m pretty good at meeting people one-on-one, but a whole big group of people I don’t know? On my own? Makes me just about have a panic attack.
And so – yes – I’m frustrated. I see the direction I need to go, but part of me keeps hoping for some sort of divine intervention. You know, that chance meeting at the gym or the bookstore. That trick of fate that it seems like happens to everyone else but me.
Who knows – maybe if I finally come out to my parents they’ll have the perfect girl to set me up with? Hmmm.