As previously noted, Portland is way too small. And then the internet doesn’t help. And I had to go and start writing a fucking blog about my dating/lack of dating life. It appears to be some sort of middle aged white lady compulsion, and I fell prey. Total cliché, I know. But now I am really compelled to write this fucking thing. I’ve been a hermit in a cave for so long and now that I got wi-fi I’m connected, dude! But Portland is so small that if one types my name and Portland there I am. I am named after a Toyota, so… This inhibits my illusion of privacy. And my actual privacy too. But I’m journaling into the ether so what can I expect?
When I started writing this I was pretty sure I’d never ever get laid again. I’d lost all hope of finding a relationship. I was and am 99% certain that Mr vaguely reminiscent of Benedict Cumberbatch would not be internet stalking me and find this. And I didn’t expect that I’d meet someone I connected with anytime soon. So now that I’m actually having a sliver of success with dating of course I’m writing about it. When I’m not on an anti-misogyny rant anyway. And now I’m realizing that these guys I date can find this blog. Fuck. I didn’t think that shit through. I am still fascinated that I have people reading it, “liking” it even! 21 followers, and none of them are my mom! But I’m kind of mortified to think that a guy I’m just getting to know might be reading this.
It’s not like I’m super great at filtering myself in actual life. I’m shy and hermity but not very private actually. I blurt. But I probably need to find someone who at least can handle my inner hag, if not fully embrace it.
Embrace your inner hag. I need t-shirts!