Me and Match

Where did it start? It started with my friends Meredith and May getting engaged within weeks of one another. It started with a big ass birthday looming. It started at a crowded party when I realized *for real* that I was never going to meet someone within my group of friends. It started with Tina and Kristy in Hawaii who not only encouraged me but also came up with a plan of action.

I found a photographer and had some pictures taken. I compiled a profile and set up a Match.com account and viola I met the man of my dreams. End of story.

Mostly, I’ve been pretty quiet about most of it. I didn’t feel comfortable blogging in any kind of detail because I’d hate the thought of being someone else’s silly story *and I have so many stories* but also because contrary to popular belief I’m actually quite private about things. When I first started meeting guys I was blown away with how many single/straight/somewhat attractive guys were into me. It was exhilarating and fantastic. It helped my confidence and I know made me more attractive. I was in a really great place in my life and it was more about what I wanted and what was good for me. I went on dates thinking, “I hope I like him” not “Please, please, please like me”.  I focused a lot on controlling the controllable (me) and staying in the present which helped me be me: smart, funny, quirky and sassy. In the beginning I met some really great guys. They were really sweet and such adorable gentlemen. And dating was fun. Actually, in the beginning it was a lot of fun. The first few times it was awkward answering the question “why aren’t you married” but after ten or twelve times I got good at explaining about the boys in the culture where I was raised. I’ve been accused of dating like a 21-year old boy and for breaking up with guys for ridiculous reasons. For instance, because you can’t spell or because you refuse to text are silly reasons but at this point in my life I’m not settling for anything less than extraordinary.  I know that extraordinary exists and I’m not looking for Mr. Perfect. I’m looking for someone who thinks of me, is kind to everyone (not just me) and makes me laugh. If you fall into those categories I don’t care if you are bald or short or look like Kermit. I don’t care if you make less money than me, are in school, or are starting a new career path. I don’t care if you are a Jesus freak (okay, I cared a little bit but I talked to Bob about it and was open to try and make it work). I’ve also been dumped for a variety of reasons including because of the school I attended. Sweet friend, if you can’t deal with the fact that I went to BYU 20 years ago you will not be okay with my last name and what that means. Sure I wish it had come up earlier in our relationship since it was such a deal breaker but I figured he knew it since he knew I grew up in Utah County. Aye!

About half way through my most recent journey (I hate that word but there’s not another more appropriate one) some things happened that scared me and knocked me on my butt. One was an E-mail that wasn’t even to me or about me. It was about someone I care about a lot and it was a very hurtful example of just how shallow guys can be. Even though that was a few months ago I think at least to a degree the general message of that E-mail will always be in my head muttering, “You’re not good enough. If she’s not good enough you will never be good enough.” The other thing that happened was a massive panic attack when I literally couldn’t think of one single happy married couple. You can ask Z, it was a full blown attack and I was cancelling my membership and hyperventilating at my desk. Z talked me off my ledge and then I remembered Tiffy and Nick. And Becky and Paul. And Robb and Kris. And Brandon and Casey. And Matt and Kendra. And I started breathing regularly again.   

I did take a bit of a break from all the fun. I went on vacation, got some perspective, re-activated my account, and started dating again. The second time around has been less than awesome but not wretched. I’ve learned some stuff about myself, about guys in general and what I’m really looking for in my future. Overall, I’ve learned a few extra-special lessons: don’t invite boys over to my house, don’t compare my job to an abusive boyfriend (even if it is) and when they ask if you own your home don’t blurt out, “That’s way too much commitment” but more than anything I’ve learned to be myself because I’m pretty awesome and my life is fantastic.