birds of a feather

Ever since I woke up today, I’ve been desperate to get to the blog. To write. Do I have something important to say or something weighing on me? Not really, no. Just need to vomit.
I had a very nice, supportive, and humorous comment on yesterday’s blog from Avenjer. His pointed out how much he noticed that I cry. Yeah, I cry a lot, it seems, although much less than I was, so that’s helpful. He raised concern about dehydration. I’d never thought of that. It was a timely observation. As I was going through some of the novel yesterday, I was struck by how much my characters cry. I was like, ‘Seriously? Enough already, get it together.” See, dear reader, I can empathize with you somewhat. No one likes a crybaby. I guess I am unintentionally writing my own emotions, what I know. Ugh. I went through and adjusted quite a few of the instances. Sometimes changing the emotion somewhat, using words, or having their eyes sting or something less than crying. I, blindly, had not made the connection between how much my characters cry and how much I do, until his apt comment.
I helped MD write her profile and work on her pictures for her new Match subscription. After we’d been doing it for a couple hours, she was kinda bored. I loved it. I don’t why I love that stuff so much. It’s just fun doing that kind of thing for other people. It was really fun to see her be in such a different place. A place that really seems like she’s ready for it. It’s also fun to write a self-description about someone else while trying to use their voice, their humor, and their perspective. I hope something comes from it for her. With my relative disappointment over the lack of possibilities on my dating sights (not surprising), I thought I’d check out the possibilities for myself on Match.
Now, here’s my disclaimer. This next part is bitchy. It’s arrogant. It’s judgy. It’s devaluing. Its mean. The actuality that it’s true doesn’t change those facts.
For the most part, I felt like I was looking at the people of Wal-Mart website. The straight men MD had to choose from had a wide assortment. Cringe-worthy to a few that I plan on offering carrying their children for them. On the gay side of things, with one or two exceptions, both of us were either flinching away unintentionally, bursting out laughing, or saying things like, ‘Oh, sweetie, don’t make that face. Don’t take pictures of yourself in front of a urinal. Shirtless, really? Have you looked in the mirror?”
It was bad. Here is one more of my stupid dichotomies. The elevated and insecure view of my own looks and attractiveness. I am often surrounded by gorgeous people. Many of my friends are near physical perfection. As a result, my lack in that department is pretty blatantly obvious. At times, kinda crippling. That has kinda helped me know where I stand on the scale of things. Which is good to know. I don’t really know exactly on the scale I’d be. Probably a six. On a really, really good day, maybe a 7½. Few and far between. That being said, if I approach someone, they are typically around those same numbers, unless I’m really ballsy. Strange things do happen. Both of my dates (last week and this coming) are so far out of my league that it’s bizarre. Not really sure why they looked at me twice, but thought it a good idea to not point that out. It does seem however, that on these sites that people are a lot more confident than they should be. Men that could be my grandfather and men that look like characters off comedy movies (and not in a funny way) think they would be an appropriate option for me. Of course, there is always the distinct possibility that the number I have assigned to myself is much too lofty.
I still feel like a fraud joining these dating sites, going on date, talking about the possibility of a future with someone else. However, from what people are saying, from things that I hear randomly (like on Drop Dead Diva), everywhere, it seems like all signs are pointing to, “Do whatever you have to do to move on, to live, to keep going.” Of course, I know it’s easy to twist things to appear however you want them.
At the end of our night last night, after a few almost tears (shut up, Avenjer!), lots of chocolate, and many, many laughs, MD and I ended the night hovering over the roof of her car, marveling a the headless bird that lay with its legs sticking straight in the air as if in a cartoon. What do you do with that? Talk about an omen. Sadly, the bird was already dead. I think.