BIG Fish. small Fish.

You know that saying?  There are plenty of fish in the sea.  Well, it’s true.  Way more true than you’d think.  The BIG questions are: What kind of fish are they and what kind of fish do I want?  

Uhh, I’ll take the wood-grilled salmon with brown butter.  Oh, and a tall glass of water.  Wink. Please.

But really, when people do ask me what kind of man I want, here’s my first statement.  I want a fungi-a fun guy (lame joke from my 7th grade science teacher).  Yeah, I want someone that takes me out of my own mind because I tend to get lost in it.  I want to laugh until I’m shaking and smile until my cheeks hurt.  But I guess that might be what everyone wants

What I want most of all?  A connection.  Like what they talk about in the movies and books.  I want fiction to become my reality.  Is that insane?  Probably.  But I think it’s out there and if it’s not, than what is the point?

Some people believe that the BIG things are the most important when it comes to match making.  Religion. Politics. Kids or no kids.  Chipotle or Qdoba.  It makes sense.  Do you want to be with someone that doesn’t believe in what you believe in?  Do you want to be with someone who spends their time protesting or working hard?  (Tell me how you really feel)  Do you want to wake up someday without the sounds of laughter and crayon marks on the wall?  Can you live with someone that prefers Chipotle over Qdoba?  Dat cheese sauce doh.

The BIG things are important but so are the small things.  Good morning texts.  Flowers. Holding doors. Does he call you beautiful?  Does he make you laugh?  Does he still call you beautiful when you’re sick as a dog?

Does that guy exist?

I have to admit this is a terrible time to write this post.  Unlike my usual black stone of a heart, it seems to be brightening with the warmth of the sun.  God, did I just say that?  Let me explain. Please.

Bachelor #1, OkCupid:  Let’s call him Treble (like the musical term).  Treble is trouble.  Not like Taylor Swift trouble.  More like trouble for me.  Because he is doing everything right.

Just as this blog was getting good, right?

Good morning texts. He makes me feel beautiful. He texts.  BUT he also calls.  What a dying form of art… but he does it.

Talking to him on the phone has been like talking to my long lost friend.  Our first conversation was two and a half hours.  Our second, one and a half.

And I’m going to be real honest, small talk BORES me.  Intellectual talk, on the other hand, well that is my jam.  That is how I connect.

And we have connected.

Let me just contrast that for a second with a quick interlude on bachelor #2.

Bachelor #2, Christian Mingle: Let’s call him DT (like Donald Trump).  DT has many of the BIG ticket items.  He’d be the kind of guy my own dad could sit and talk with for hours.  He was nice enough through messaging. We seemed to have a lot in common so I agreed to a phone call (maybe not such a dying art form).

Anyways, here’s how that phone call went.  59 minutes.  He spoke. I listened (or tried to but to no avail my eyes kept closing in unbelievable boredom).  And then, he spoke.  I surfed the web.  He talked. I solved world hunger.

He’s the perfect match for my dad.  But for me, there was no spark.  Bye Felicia!

Sure, I haven’t met either of them in person yet… But we’ve discussed some pretty important things.  But to me, it’s not about what we discussed at this point, it’s about what I feel.

Young and naive?  You betcha.  But most of all, just a fish trying to climb a tree.

Coming to a blog near you: Date #1. Stay tuned.


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