Day 1: The Starting Line

The mission, my friends, is simple: to find a single, heterosexual, sentient man to accompany me to a co-worker's wedding exactly one month from today.  That's right.  I am in the market to drum up a date in 30 days or less.  He doesn't need to be long-term material but simply must be free the night of Saturday, August 11.  I've gone to six (6) weddings so far this year, dateless, and in principle I am fine with it.  Really.  Fellow wedding-goers at tables of 7 are generally nice and friendly and receptive to adding a third wheel to their romantic evening.  But this particular guest list is all couples, and in my sub-par attempts at some surface soul-searching (and in light of the apparent fact that even all the gay guys are taken), I've decided, simply, that I want a date to this one.  Not because I need one, but because I want one, and doggone it, life is short and I should go out and get what I want.  Right?

Initial disclaimers for said gentleman (brace yourself) include: not in the seminary, not sort-of-single-until-you-ask-his-girlfriend-if-he's-single, not under 25 or over 40, not on life support, not "probably straight," not geographically unavailable.  Not the most stringent baseline criteria, Alexandra, you find yourself musing, What the hell is wrong with you that you can't scrape someone up.  Wait.  It gets narrower.  My preference is to meet said person on my own accord (without some well-meaning reader determining to set me up with their previous neighbor's stepson), either in person, or on the decently reputable dating website I may have succumbed to joining.  And, odds are, it will need to be someone not presently visible in my life, because otherwise, if we are such a good match, we'd already be dating.  Right? . . . Right?  (Read: if we hooked up in college, do not consider this a repeat invitation.)

The dating website has produced few desirable results, which is inherently sad, because it's a DATING WEBSITE.  In other news, the next four weekends are wide open in my planner, which means I intend to go out and mingle as much as possible.  Mingle is such a shitty word.  It just screams over-the-hill chain-smoking divorced man with a mustache, wandering between bar stools, resting his hairy arm around the shoulders of girls his daughter's age.  "Socialize" comes across as much less skeezy, but it sounds like what you do at a baptism party around a bowl of Wheat Thins while everyone competes to hold the baby.  What's a comparable but superior word to "mingle"?  Think about it and get back to me in < 30 days.

Anyway, ideally, said individual would share my general viewpoints on my partner non-negotiables, but we'll be making considerable accommodations in this project for anyone who may seem marginally suitable.  And while many of my inflexible relationship points might seem unreasonable to others, I swear on my life that in the presence of a borderline-possible Wedding Date Prospect, I will be on my best social behavior, defined by me and the Center for Autism as polite, funny, non-combative, and engaging.  I'll try to not to broach politics, religion, prevalence of preventable diseases in economically disadvantaged countries, or my obsession with book sale days at the library.  I might even throw in a few stereotypical feminine moves, like batting the eyelashes, affably giggling in response to even unsuccessful attempts at humor, and not leaning on bars like a union trucker.

To Matt and Brittany, whose guest list will contain my name and an anonymous plus-one: I'll definitely get you a really nice card, maybe one of those Papyrus ones that are over $6.00 and come individually cellophaned with the little gold bird seal, to make up for the fact that you two lovebirds have to pay for (probably in more ways than one) literally a total stranger to come party with you.

To future Wedding Date Prospect: I'm going out on a limb and assuming Matt and Brittany, in anticipation of shitshow guests like us having to be in their presence, are providing a well-stocked bar to help everyone cope, so it'll at least be an evening of courtesy libations.  I took the liberty of pre-ordering us one chicken and one steak, so whatever your little carnivorous heart might prefer, you may call dibs on.  Additionally, at marital events, I do usually dance like a moron, for stretches of hours at a time, so you may either join me in my guaranteed idiocy, or enjoy large, welcomed chunks of peace and quiet to yourself babysitting my heels and handbag at the abandoned table.  I'll wear something summery and cute; you can break out a tie, which God-willing you own, and some cologne.  Fellow guests will definitely know you're a rent-a-date, though, both because it's a quietly yet universally acknowledged fact that I am single, and also because I just posted this blog on Facebook.

So, action plan: I hid all the 'N Sync CDs.  I relocated Teddy from my bed to a shelf.  I'll not skip any more days shaving my legs.  I'll change out of my CCCA polo every day immediately upon school departure.  I'll be telling no one that I have a bunny.  Game on.  Let's do this.  Send me tips.  Wish me luck.  Here we go.