I always joke about how I should come with a disclaimer for those who enter my life romantically – really, platonically too. If you keep up with my blog, it’s pretty obvious where I stand on the me in a relationship fence. For those who are new readers or have difficulty deciphering a hippopotamus from an ant: the likelihood I get into a relationship with some random, nonrandom, or any guy is as likely as you winning the lottery. It’s just not gonna happen.
To the casual onlooker or semi-intimate friend, I come off as the most complicated person you ever encountered personally, observed, or literary. This, my dears, is because you don’t know all. My very closest of close friends will be first to say “RaeAnna is her own brand of uniquely odd;” complex I am not. Once the whole story is out there and festering away in your imagination, you will only say “oh…” It became clear.
I’m not a fan of dating. It’s stupid. It has rules. I approach dating like friendship. If I don’t want you as a friend first, why would I ever want to date you? Dating, for most people, leads (eventually) to sex, and sorry – except I’m not – that’s never going to happen. Dates take time. Let me be completely and totally honest: the book I am reading is more of a priority than making time in my life than a new guy. I like my family, friends, dog, book, cooking, traveling, money, and alone time. Blatantly, no one gives me enough butterflies for me to make room for them in my already delightfully full life. Aside from the societally crappy aspects of dating, I don’t want my life interrupted by some romantic hiccup.
I am a “catch,” therefore you shouldn’t date me. (God I sound cocky as fuck, but stick with me here.) I am a Cornell graduate, I speak three languages proficiently and a smattering of two more, I travelled all over Western Europe, I have a career, I’m a homebody who loves travel and adventures, I think I’m funny, I’m a nerd (but my passion is surprisingly adorable), I like to cook, and I’m happy with simplicity. I’ve been told this makes me a “catch.” My thought process: Since I went through all the trouble of cultivating myself, why on God’s green earth would I want to settle down into a relationship with some dude? I did not put all the time and effort into things I love to not continue exploring the world and my place in it. What I have learned is most guys are not okay with little old me saying “sayonara” and leaving the state or country for a few weeks with zero plans past where I’ll be staying and what books I’ll read. Guys say they’re fine with it, but a constant barrage of texts and six missed calls a day say otherwise.
The most difficult hurdle to overcome so far would be: my very best friend. She has never, not once approved of a guy. Her approval is pivotal. Without it, there isn’t even a grain of hope. We’ll call her protective. Now that we are on the Kelsey topic, we shall explore her importance to my life. She is a vital component in my daily life, any and all decisions/choices, my happiness, my health (especially mental), all plans future or otherwise, and my overall being. We like to joke we are life partners – funny story: last week we were repeatedly mistaken as a couple in the city. Really, I’m not joking. She is more than my friend; she is my partner. So much so, she is my power of attorney. She has been one of two consistents in my life. I depend on her in so many ways. So moral of the story: we’re a pair. If a guy wants me, they get my other and usually better half. She will always come first.
I sound like a raging but honest bitch with this one. I get bored with people. I have a hard time dating due to a lack of continued interest on my part. I’m always reading and learning, and there’s only so many anecdotes to be told before there are none left to tell. I want to have intellectually stimulating conversations; sorry, but most people fall flat. Making me laugh will help extend my interest. If a guy can’t turn my mind on, they’ll be turned out fast. Because I want someone who can keep up with me when I talk about the linguistic impact French had on the Russian lexicon and syntax during and after Peter the Great’s reign, and I will use examples.
Dating me is hard because I am chock full of problems. I’m a very dense 5’10” package of traumatic history with men. Believe me, you do not want to white knight this one. Just dump the armor and run like hell; actually, keep the horse and ride away. It’s much faster. You may call it chivalry; I call it a trigger. I have PTSD, so: don’t surprise me, don’t sneak up on me, no sudden movements, no loud noises, don’t touch me unless I know it’s coming, don’t touch my neck, no soft touches, no Blink 182, don’t cuddle me unless I want to be, don’t be distant or too close, no bugs ever, no tickling, no yelling, and for God’s sake never ask what’s wrong when I’m melting down. There’s the starter kit to my crazy.
If a guy can deal with all of that, let’s continue on. I have major abandonment issues. Everyone I have ever loved has contributed to this in one way or another except for my best friend and her family. I have gotten so used to watching people walk away my entire life I don’t form attachments. If I don’t get attached, it doesn’t hurt when they leave. Sure, I know this can shoot me in the foot and it’s unhealthy, but for over 20 years it was my subconscious way of surviving everything I had to.
I’ve gotten really used to being “the” girl who turns out to be “a” girl. Every time I opened my heart to a guy it always followed the same pattern, time being the only variant. People think I’m interesting – I’m confuddled because I’m shocked so many of you keep coming back to read about my-mundane-self, but you do. Guys first think I’m cute. Then think I’m smart and interesting. This lasts awhile. Eventually, they figure everything out. Even my PTSD isn’t surprising anymore; it’s more like an annoying nose itch that won’t go away. I have changed from a vibrant, spontaneously mysterious girl into a shade of pink. I’m no longer the girl who captured their heart, but just another girl. I was once told I am “boringly predictable” and “nothing [I] do is exciting or interesting anymore just familiar.” That one hurt a little. I can’t even blame them because they’re right.
I have literally dated guys because I was bored and they were the best of the worst options. I know, I’m a terrible person. It made me realizeone very important thing: Every guy was nothing but a place holder. Something to do because: I’m already taken. Well, I’ve been single for three years, but no one has stuck. Someone already has my heart. I found my romantic, intellectual, temperament, problem, passion’s match at nineteen. We went to hell and back on repeat for years before we called a timeout. We both fucked up in our own ways and know it, but we’ve stayed connected through it all. Our break up has lasted three years, but I’ve never come close to moving on. Finally, I’ve just given up on trying. Now, I’m trying to make it right. I found the perfect compliment to my neuroses right out of the gate. I don’t date because I’m taken in the only way that counts. I gave away my heart years ago, and I don’t want it back.