My Weak Attempt to Speed Date and the Realization Thereof...

Being the Type A extroverted personality that I am, I like to plan ahead. You would be amazed out how far in my life I have a schedule for. I know that nothing is set in stone and that the only thing you can "predict is the unpredictable," but still I maintain vague plans and set goals. With that, I know that someday I would like to get married, "settle down (cringe)" and find me a man, in no particular order. So what did I do today? I googled "speed dating orange county." What were the results? I am not invited to any speed dating events, as I am not the minimum age of 25, but the ripe age of 23 years young.

Feeling dejected, I attempt to figure out why an ambitious, talented, capable 23 year old female would not be included in the appropriate age demographic of a speed dating environment. Why is 23 out of the traditional mindset of those that typically speed date? Before I could even finish my omnipotent, omnipresent internal dialogue, I had reached my conclusion.

Think about it, you "son of a motherless goat." You went to UCI. You watch CSI. You aren't invited because 23 year olds are not intended to be dating people that they could potentially be interested in long term. Oh!!! I forget sometimes that 23 year olds are not meant to marry, settle, question or doubt their identity. 23 year olds are meant to travel, explore, have adventures and develop their own sense of self, in order to meet the suitor that compliments them best. Obviously, the creators of the speed dating are "hip to the groove" of what is appropriate for my age demographic, whereas, I often find myself randomly, tapdancing on the "June Cleaver" mentality, as so many generations have possessed before me. You know it, or your mom knew it, or your grandmother, if you're really progressive. The whole "find 'em, keep 'em, serve 'em, never let 'em go" song and dance. Knowing the gagging ridiculousness of this archaic, primordial justification of gender relations, why do I continue to have such a hard time accepting that it is that which is unpredictable, which is the exact motivation behind human nature to hold out for the one that is best suited?

Case in point, I had sushi tonight with a friend who is 20, married, is "taking time off from college" to move to Portland with her new husband so he can pursue Law School. Cringe. Not for me, great for her, to which I am so happy. What is it about the ambivalence behind relationships that drives the level-headed, happily single men and women of the completely fulfilling, professional lifestyle, to unjustifiable thoughts of doubt and fear? Leaving me wondering if I possess too high of standards and will die a single, stubborn, shriveled old woman, surrounded by cats, T.V. dinners, and saggy tattoos. To which I say, "better that, than sans the premeditated stories of lost loves, ship wrecks and late night skinny dipping sessions I WILL experience." But honestly, when are we to throw in the towel and lower the standards we have prided ourselves on, in order to succumb to the timeline of fertility? 25? 28? 32? 45? When's too late for love and when are we being premature for that which we are capable of? And what are we capable of and by whose standards do we judge this capability? Hold on. Yeah, I just fainted from hyperventilation.

Do not fret my pet. Wanton Hussy is not straying from the lifestyle of a single, independent lady just yet. Just taking it all in. One overpriced meal, bad kiss, awkward rejection at a time. Or that thing that gets me up in the morning. Each unknown promise of a new day. Does this make any sense, have I hit a new low, or do I really just like hearing myself think outloud? Either way, I'm unstoppable.