My romantic history.

So, a few weeks ago, I posted on facebook that I would blog about why I'm so afraid to date.  I'm feeling half-inspired right now, and I'm going to take advantage of it before it leaves me.  I only hope that my treatise will fake you out and sound fully inspired.  Here's the deal, though -- there's a lot going on.  We've got to start with first things first.

Here's the run-down of my romantic history:  I always grew up as the "fat kid," but I wasn't ever made fun of.  I just wasn't ever one of the popular or pretty girls, either.  Don't get me wrong -- I've always had lively eyes and lovely bone structure.  There was just a double chin to give it a nice, natural frame.  It wasn't until midway through college that I developed a sense of style further than t-shirts, jeans, and sensible shoes.  That being said, I wasn't exactly top pick when it came to Friday night fare.  Thankfully I used this ugly duckling time to develop my other traits, like my friendly personality, musical aptitude, thirsty intellect, sparkling wit, keen memory, decorative eye, creative pen, supreme modesty...

Anyway, my perennial singleness has always been a bit of a downer for me.  I wouldn't say it's been a sore spot; it's been a tiny hangnail, though -- painless most of the time, until you hit it.  Then it smarts somethin' fierce.

I had one relationship when I was twelve years old (and this is when we get into the real soul-baring conversation).  It was with the pastor's son, who really was a sweetheart.  I read him my diary because I was a super smart kid and I thought that a thirteen-year-old boy would do well to hear how many times I'd written about him in my three years of knowing him.  I wasn't all that wrong, since he said he felt the same way.  We held hands three times on a church trip, it was one of the most awesome times of my life, everything was good, and then a fourteen-year-old girl joined the youth group.  And then it was over.

That was seventh grade (I remember, actually, that it was March of 2000, because we all skipped one of the church camp meetings to watch UNC in the Final Four back when Matt Doherty was still considered a good coach).  Let's fast forward to high school.  I "came out of my shell" freshman year, going from shy little Laura to fun and friendly Laura, but I still remained one of those every-friend people.  You know, the ones who are friends with everybody.  Keyword friends.  All four years, I not once heard of someone having a crush on me, thinking I was pretty, wanting to date me, whatever.

Again, I'm not bitter, and I hope it doesn't sound like I'm complaining.  The hangnail's just a little red.

All four years, nothing.  College came.  Lots of male friends.  I hung out with more guys than girls freshman year (how they weren't sick of me, I'm not quite sure), and three of my best friends sophomore year were guys.  Same deal the rest of college.  Now, junior year, I got invited to a fraternity cocktail by a guy I worked with.  I knew he was interested in me thanks to a mutual friend, and he apparently knew I thought he could be a possibility because he definitely brought it up that night.  Very awkwardly brought it up.  It felt more like a business arrangement between acquaintances than anything.  I was thinking that we were getting to know each other better in order to see if something could happen later on; he was thinking that this was a first date and we needed to be seriously dating each other from there on out.  Apparently work meetings and a few group dinners -- with work people -- were enough occasions for us to pass that whole first getting-to-know-you stage.  So, that one didn't end well.

At the same time, I was "talking" to two other guys.  It gets complicated here.  I knew one guy from a mission trip, and we were both aware of moderate romantic feelings toward one another.  He goes into the military, happens to give my AIM screen name to a buddy, and the buddy and I hit it off.  Weird phone relationship ensues, he starts to get really attached but is a poor communicator, I try to quit talking to him multiple times then feel sorry for him, then he baaaasically drops off the face of the Earth.  Problem solved.  Cue no-more-guy time again.

Senior year?  Have a crush on a guy, find out he's engaged.  Have a crush on a guy, he gives no reciprocal indicators.  Have a crush on a guy, realize he's a baseball player and I have never even met him.  Multiply that one times ten.  Story of my life.

After graduation, there's really been a whole lot of nothing with a little bit of "uhh..." thrown in.  Remember the hot teacher at school?  Remember how he got engaged?  Remember how I was always afraid to talk to him, even after he got engaged?  And would you believe that I'm still afraid to talk to him now even though I'm so not interested anymore?  Then there's the case of another guy I know who seemed really interested for a while, then I basically said CALM DOWN SON and quite possibly hurt his wittle feewings, then tried to be friends again, then he seemed really interested again...then he dropped off the face of the planet, as well.  Multiply that one times two, and here we are.

Y'all, that's not even all of it.  I'm simply taking pity on you and your eyestrain, leaving out some of the details to keep it shorter and to keep you from knowing every bit of my life.  I've got to keep at least a few of my secrets to myself (especially since I never know who reads this...and I would be mortified if current romantic hopes and ideas got into the wrong hands), right?  I mean, let's be honest, it was tough for me to admit a lot of that.  Because not many people know about much of it at all.  What better place to air your vulnerabilities than a public blog?

There you have my love life in a nutshell.  Hopefully it will help in the future when I do the real MAN-POST in which I analyze what I billed as "why I am scared to death to date you and as such I either push you away or run in the opposite direction."

Are you excited?