Lounging around watching my roomate play video games, waiting for Desperate Housewives and Eli Stone, feeling a familiar knot of anxiety form in my stomach after a conversation with the boy I am dating, I realize something: writing is therapeutic. What better way to chronicle my adventures in single-land, my awkward dates from an online site, and to vent at various forms of God's mistakes?
Let it be mentioned that I am 25, and have not been single for 5 years...nay, 6. Not much of a dater in high school....developed a 4-year relationship in college, had a fling with a very sexy James Frano look-alike Portuguese, got caught up in a 1-year relationship with my best friend (Very. Bad. Idea). And now, finally, I..."date."
My Roomate in a Horrible Funk is...in a horrible funk. I am going on 5 dates a week to get out of similar funk, but with each failed attempt to distract myself from Socially Challenged Computer Engineer I don't want to be distracted from, the funk grows and envelops and sucks me in. One month ago, RHF and I made a plan: fancy reservations for 4 at a swanky bar. Double dates with fun company = him getting laid and me...getting my ego boost. Date searching? Not going so well, and we have a week left.
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