GirlieGirl’s resident single gal, Daiva Deupree, looks back at her dating history. You’ll probably relate to much of what she says, or at least have someone fabulous to set her up with (that’s what the comments area is for).
Five different people are trying to set me up right now. I’m being attacked from every possible angle; email, Facebook, voice mails, at cocktail parties where my defenses are at their lowest. You name it, and someone is trying to set me up at it, or through it. And against my better judgment, I’ve decided to take everyone up on their offer, no matter how creepy that guy looks. Because, if nothing else, BAD DATES MAKE FOR GOOD COMEDY, and I am devoted to anything that might make someone laugh. That, and maybe I’ll get a few free drinks out of it.
I’m trying to figure out when all of this happened. When did I become that girl that everyone wants to set up? When did my friends/people I barely know, decide that I am not equipped to meet someone on my own, and reinforcements must be called in STAT? When did I officially become the “eternally-single-wacky-best-friend” in this sitcom? Somewhere along the road I made a horrible wrong turn, got off at the wrong exit, or just plain ran out of gas, and now I’m sitting on the side of the highway waiting for AAA.
My cousin got married a few weeks ago. I spent the whole wedding at a table with my dad, step-mom, and their friends. THE. WHOLE. WEDDING. It was like I was one of them. I have now made it to that place where I’m an adult…with the adults…at the adults’ table. I’ve crossed over. Towards the end of the reception, as the band wound down with the pre-requisite “At Last” my father and I sat and watched the “young” couples dance. That is awkward enough, but then he leaned over and whispered, “Well, I love you, Dave.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I whispered back, and checked my Blackberry. I’m not sure what I was checking it for, but it’s what I do when I get anxious…I check it…all the time.
My father gave up on me settling down a long time ago. Probably when I ran away to Paris to go to mime school. But he didn’t make it official until two years ago. We were having lunch at a little cafe, and in between spoonfuls of Vichyssoise, he looked at me and furrowed his brow. That’s the first sign that something uncomfortable is coming. The furrowed brow is followed by and short stare and then the rubbing together of his hands. Then there’s a: “So, Dave…?” After this he crosses his legs and sort of rolls his ankle around til he picks just the right words. This is what he picked that day:
“Do you ever feel like maybe you’re just destined to be alone?”
Huh. Destined to be alone. We’re there already. I could tell he had more coming, so I just let him go.
“I mean, you don’t have the greatest track record,” and then he started listing off all the people who had dumped me over the last few years. Counting my failures on his fingers for fear he’d loose track. I could see them very clearly as he listed them. The one who “Memo Dumped” me in an email that he probably wrote while his girlfriend was sleeping, the one who “Shock-and-Awe Dumped” me right before we started our shift at a giant Italian restaurant, and the one that’s STILL dumping me. He dumped me right before this serene-doomsday lunch my father and I were having, and every once in a while, out of nowhere, he sends me an email or a text explaining why he doesn’t want to marry me. I call that one the “Michael Jackson Dump”…just when you think he’s gone for good, he comes back crazier than ever.
Now, my father doesn’t know this, but I’ve even been dumped by someone I wasn’t dating. I did a show with him, and when he decided to move to Europe, the rest of the cast and I threw him a going away party. I had no interest in this man whatsoever. He came over to me, and I thought we were just going to say goodbye, but instead…out of nowhere…he “Ninja Dumped” me.
“I think you’re a really great girl,” he said, “and I know you feel a strong connection to me, but this just isn’t a good time. I’m so sorry to do this to you, because I know you’ve been hurt before, and you’ve got self-esteem issues, but I have to. It’s just not going to work out between us. Maybe in another life.”
I was shocked into silence and looked around to see if anyone was witnessing this…if anyone was going to step in and say, “Dude, WHAT are you doing!?!”
But no one saw it happen, not even the guy I actually was dating (who would later dump me in my apartment by saying, “I think I’m done trying to pursue a sexual relationship with you.” – I haven’t come up with a name for that one yet) nope, not a soul. He walked away, and I sat there stunned on a humiliatingly small barstool.
There are some girls who inspire lavish gift giving from the men they date. I have known these women; I have seen the jewelry they’ve collected over the years. I am not one of these women. I am not a girl who gets flowers or jewelry, I am a girl who gets dumped in a bar on a tiny stool, by a guy she’s never dated.
And so, here I am…accepting friend requests…typing, “He sounds great!”…and signaling for another Jack & Ginger while agreeing to go out with your friend Josh…and at the very least, my Girlies, there’ll be plenty more where this came from…
Love always,
Daiva
Daiva Deupree is an actor, writer, and part-time wedding planner who lives in NYC.