So it turns out that becoming the proverbial Polar Bear can take a long time. It's a journey, really. As part of my journey, I'm going to start over again (again). That polar bear in my mind is happy, and I want what s/he has, and maybe--just maybe--this blog is part of the answer. And I just feel like blogging again.
The last time I posted was almost two years ago. To update everyone: That guy turned out to be a dick, I am still in Corporate America but in a relatively better job, and I moved to a different part of town because I couldn't stand all those hipster kids with their American Apparel outfits.
It feels good to catch up. So what do I want to talk about today? I want to talk about the delicate dance that is online dating. Case in point: I currently have a profile on a popular free dating website. One of the sections they ask you to fill out is entitled "The most private thing I'm willing to admit here." Not giving it a whole lot of thought to it at the time, I said, "I used to have nightmares about the Hamburgler when I was little." Which is a true statement. (What I left out, though, is that the recurring nightmares were not about the Hamburgler trying to steal cheeseburgers or anything else. The premise was always that the Hamburgler was interested in me romantically, and he would essentially chase me around, much like Pepe Le Pew would always chase that poor cat. And the dreams always ended the same way: my family and I would be driving down the road in the station wagon we had at the time, and I would be looking out the back window at the Hamburgler on a moped trying to chase us down. We would always outrun him, and eventually he would disappear into the horizon, and I would then wake up.
So now you know how weird I really am.)
But I digress. the point is, this is almost always the thing that men will comment on when they send me a message. They'll be like, "Why the Hamburgler?" And I'll be like, "I dunno." So it's an icebreaker.
The other day, though, this gentleman messaged me and said, "I used to have nightmares about Grimace. We should start a class action lawsuit." I got really excited. Finally, someone who understood my plight! And he was funny! And then I looked at his profile pics and found out that he had a beard! So I composed my reply message. I asked him if he'd seen any of the creepy 70's McDonalds commercials on YouTube. He replied and said that he had, and that they were terrifying. Then I replied by telling him that in the town where I went to college, the McDonalds had a scary animatronic Ronald McDonald that would creepily sing a song if you pushed a button.
And then I never heard from him again.
I had taken it too far. I had talked just a little too much about McDonalds, more than any grown woman should. And then I came to the realization that once again the Hamburgler had come back to haunt me. And then I shook my fist at the sky and cursed the Hamburgler's name. I thought about messaging him again, but then remembered that scene in Swingers with the answering machine and thought better of it. (Sidebar: thank you, American Cinema, for teaching me so much about life.)
So what I've learned is that the next time some dude asks me about the Hamburgler, I'm going to try to change the subject as soon as possible. I'll wait until we've gotten to know each other before I broach the subject again. I'm not going to let the Hamburgler win anymore. And that is how you get closer to being that polar bear.
