Wednesday, June 15, 2011

Please Don't Call Me Princess

Last Friday night, I did something I haven't done in forever. And I'm not just talking about washing, blow drying, and straightening my hair (which I realized does wonders for my appearance, who knew).

No, I went on a date with someone. Someone who I met at a bar. A foreigner. The Turkish guy from a few weeks ago.

I haven't gone out with a random since I met TK back in March. I haven't had the emotional capacity or free time to make it a priority. And I haven't gone out with a foreigner in years. Mostly because of my phobia of stage five clingers. (Seriously, it's either that or pure womanizer, I have never seen a happy medium.)

We had a nice time, he took me to a restaurant from his native land. Unfortunately the long week coupled with work trip took its toll as soon as I got there. I just could not muster up the strength to be charming no matter how hard I tried. Listening to the things I was saying made me more exhausted. Why am I being so boring? I thought.

Luckily he had plenty of stories to fill the three hour dinner. He is the embodiment of the American dream, and it was all very impressive and inspiring. Plus he's very cute and nice, which always helps.

But, after the thirteenth reference to me being a princess, I have concluded he is probably not The One. This was solidified the next day when he texted me that he couldn't stop thinking about me because I was 'so amazing' the previous night.

While I won't complain about hearing that, I do take issue with someone thinking that was a great version of me. That's not what I'm looking for.

I want to find someone who loves me for my awkward stories, for my appreciation of Zeppelin and Hendrix, for my creative cooking concoctions, and for my sense of humor.

Not for my ability to sit, eyes glazed over, looking pretty. (Although he should love that about me too.)

Is that too much to ask for?

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