What Else Could Be Wrong?
Looking at the last 10 or so guys I have yet to write about I can sum most of them up in quick little bursts that have already been covered at length elsewhere on this blog:
43. A vegetarian who took me to a burger place. Classic Goody Two Shoes. Found G-D because not believing in G-D was never an option. It's also never not been an option for me, but somehow I'm really good at it.
44. Black turtleneck and gold chain on top. Same burger place. Way not religious
45. Double date. Not emotionally available
46. HOT. Perfect for me except for his raging alcohol and drug issues.
47. Started every story with "Long Story Short." None of them were short.
48. Too modern
49. Combover and boring as sin
50. Facial deformity that no one bothered to warn me about.
Fifty One. Mid thirties. Still lives with Mommy.
A year of dating in a few lines. A year that I blogged about already in detail elsewhere on here. Only a few that I have saved for deeper introspection later.
But 51 guys and seven years and 0 marriages for me. And I've asked if it's my fault and I've worked on me and I've commented on the state of the world and the state of the Jewish world and the state of the Yeshivish world and the state of the Modern Yeshivish world and the state of the Modern Yeshivish world in Washington Heights and the state of the world on Bennett Avenue for out of towners who are stuck here until they are brave enough to leave.
There may be more outrageous things that happen and that I'll discuss. When will something be inrageous?
And when does my life kickoff?