By the books

One good thing about having a best friend / roommate with a well-paying job is that you get to reap the benefits of her lifestyle, one being limited entry into the dating service world. No, I don't get to have a profile but I do get to go to some of the events. The plus side for her and the agency is that of course then my roommate is more likely to go, as she will have a wingman, coach, cheerleader, and second pair of eyes. Tonight we tested out the event portion of the service for the first time and drove to a comedy night a couple cities over. Make Every Man Want You, by Marie Forleo, suggests that each woman embrace her "is-ness," so as we drove away from the condo complex we reminded ourselves that everything is exactly as it is supposed to be right now. I can't remember what my roommate's is-ness entailed, but my mantra was that I'm supposed to be sick right now, and I'm supposed to not have a job. It's all part of the organic unfolding of my life and all I need to do is embrace it. Yeah, a little cooky, but it got two girls, who often apologize for their shortcomings, in the right frame of mind.

My is-ness told me not to judge the comedians for not being funny and not to judge myself for not thinking they were. It told me not to judge my roommate for laughing out loud, especially as the rest of the audience seemed to be in the same slightly self-conscious fit of hysterics. Lessons from Why Men Love Bitches told us to not apologize for leaving during the intermission, which was necessitated by my ensuing "cerebellum flareup" (for lack of a better word) and my subsequent inability to tolerate the head comedian's booming and energetic voice. "We made our appearance and we left when we got bored, cloaking ourselves in mystery," my roommate assured me, though I felt slightly guilty since she seemed to be enjoying the booming and energetic comedy. I also felt bad after stating that there was no one of interest in the room anyway and she mentioned that the guy we were talking to seemed nice. But, I guess it's all part of the is-ness, since if I hadn't gone my roommate probably wouldn't have either.

Oh, right, I forgot to mention "A." As I'm sure you've guessed, he's just that forgettable. Last week's second date was canceled to do my cold so severe that it hurt to swallow my own spit, and after A's enthusiastic post-date email and enthusiastic rescheduling for an unspecified time this week, I have yet to hear from him. No sleep, or even thought, lost on my part. (No, I did not mention the spit.)

I do wonder though, as I did during A's eye rolling at my not doing this or doing that, if I am really in a place where I can date now anyway. Maybe I need more well days first. Maybe I need a job and to spend time with my Seattle friends and get more local experience under my belt. But then when I think this way I remind myself that I have experienced a plethora of, well, experiences. Sure I haven't been to this mountain, I haven't been to a wine tasting, and I haven't made it across the border into Vancouver. But I've put myself through both undergrad and graduate school, been married, seen my dad through death, and I have about 13 google pages dedicated to my book reviews. Not too shabby if you ask me. Sure, I may not be a woman of leisure who spends her time in self-entertainment, but I'm a fighter, a warrior, and just a little bit of a hero. If I listen to my "is-ness" the right guy will see this as a reason to love me, not just something to tolerate or admire from a distance.

No one acts with more "is-ness" than improv comics. Every situation is presented to them without much say on their part. Every line that someone says is a page in their funny book that they themselves didn't write but have to act on. Almost every action is a reaction to something else but has to be presented as an action. And every action/(reaction) is an effort to bring coherent order and a cumulative plotline to a chaotic assortment of words and movements. Sometimes their (re)actions are funny, and sometimes they're not. Sometimes they move the comedy along, and sometimes they bring it to a screeching halt. My life is an improv, a dancing around the is-nesses of my personhood. And dates are an improv with an audience of one. "A" and I both left our seriously short lived dating life at intermission, but someday I'll find someone--and be someone--who wants to see the act all the way through.