• The Archer

Boring

I've gotten to a point in the retelling of my dating history where everything was working in my life except the dates themselves. I was in a good job, a good apartment with roommates I adored, I had started to catch the travel bug that will probably be with me until I die. So, when I look at my handy dandy spreadsheet for another crazy story, I don't find one right away. Instead I find a pattern.


I leave myself a column for notes on the relationship and why it may have ended on the spreadsheet. And for boys #23, 26, 28 and 31 I have the same note: boring.


Boring, that's all there was to say. Boring is better than rude or hurtful or 10 years older and still unsure of who he is but still thinks he can find the answers in a 19 year old.


But boring isn't great for someone who writes a dating blog. Mostly because I need content but also because I want to be entertained.


I was what many on the internet would call a smart kid. I picked up reading a bit late, just after kindergarten, but I skipped the whole sounding out words thing and jumped immediately to a six grade reading level. I was the seven year old who could debate Harry Potter for hours but couldn't pronounce a single name correctly (ok fine, I got Ron right) because I learned my vocabulary from reading so my pronunciation was abysmal. After I finished all the sixth grade books, I established the eighth grade reading level I would hold for awhile.


This plus my memory would cement me through seventh grade or so without having to try at all in english, history, or science. Math I was able to grasp logically until fifth grade. The problem with all of this was that it came naturally and I never had to try, so when I got to the point where I did have to try I had absolutely no skills with which to try and I crashed and burned. I eventually ended up on Tumblr (circa 2013, this was the pre TikTok internet when we liked to write) and discovered that there was a whole world of people like me who can still pull out their smart brains to reference random episodes of Star Trek or Vampire Diaries or Scandal but are unable to do well in any class that involves actual studying.


And one thing we all have in common? We're bored. Bored because for however many years of our childhood (and I discovered some people could float all the way into college) we didn't have to put in any effort at all. And then bored because when we did have to put in the effort it seemed like a monumental task that was not at all worth it. So we spaced out. I spent first through fifth grade thinking about my fantasy Quidditch team and escaping on the railroad with Kit Kittredge, the American Girl doll. By the way, 99% of the Kit Kittredge fans are now lesbians. I don't make the rules.


In high school I spaced out about Twilight and Secret Life of the American Teenager and what my top favorite books were and had it changed since yesterday. In college I spaced out about gymnastics and musicals. I continue to space out about both of those things in meetings and on Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur.


All of this spacing out is because I never quite developed that all important attention span and instead like to travel the roller coasters in my head.


And I hate being bored. More than anything else. After spending so many years with no alternative and then so many years unable to handle anything but being bored, boredom is my antithesis. It's why I watch so many TV shows and read so many books and travel so often. I need to be structured all of the time or I get moody and no one wants me to be moody.


So these four boys were the worst, not for their faults but for the lack thereof.


They were all shockingly similar.


#23 was an engineer and we were set up by a shadchan I vaguely know. He took me to 16 Handles for ice cream and we walked around a bit. He wanted a second date, I didn't.

#26 was an accountant and we were set up by a shadchan I know pretty well. We went to a Starbucks and we talked about accounting and camping (his two hobbies.) I went to the bathroom for 15 minutes to try to wake myself up. He said after the date to the shadchan that it seemed like I didn't want to be there. I tried to adjust my attitude.

#28 was in eCommerce and was set up by a shadchan and a friend. He took me to a cute grocery store where we got drinks. I did most of the talking. He didn't have much to say. I said I'd say yes to a second date but I didn't see much there and he said no.

#31 was an engineer and we were set up by a shadchan neither of us knew particularly well. He refused to drive in the city so I met him in Teaneck for lunch at a deli place whose demographic starts at 75. The mixture of the heavy lunch coupled with the hot day (it was the fourth of July) and his continual conversation about the chemicals he engineered meant that I actually fell asleep at the table and was continually catching my head falling over onto my hand. I gave a vehement no to a second date.


With none of these guys could I focus or make myself care about what they were saying. I almost preferred a guy I hate off the bat because then I can at the very least spar with him and at the very most share my thoughts on panda sex (if you are confused please search the blog for my article entitled Panda Sex.)


None of them made enough of an impression to get their own article. Only one of them (that I know of but the Bed Bath and Beyond website is comprehensive) has gotten married since.


I'm sure they had things to say. I wish I had the mental capacity to listen.


Boredom means I miss things. I have a hard time in meetings and I make sure to always have a book rather than listening to my own thoughts when I have downtime.


I don't think I missed anything with these guys but I do wish I could have given them better experiences with me where I was fully present. I wish I could have given my teachers that. Sometimes. Some of my teachers.


I know I'm anything but boring but that I can also be too much. Once again the lesson here is finding that oft spoken middle ground and settling there.


But I can't settle. I'd get bored.



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