I think I am going to start writing about my misadventures in online and conventional dating. Not only so that I can document for myself the seemingly endless array of douche-balls and assholes and immature peons that comprise the pool of datable men in the United States, but so that other accomplished single women see that the prevalence of frogs is reaching approaching pandemic levels. It used to be that you kissed a few---like maybe 10 or 20 frogs before the magical "poof" where the prince finally appeared. Nowadays a sweet girl can go around inspecting frogs for years and kissing frogs for years and maybe even testing out commitment with a number of frogs without ever catching a glimpse of the proverbial prince. Frogs abound. Lately I feel as though the frogs are seeking me out and when I lean in for a kiss they turn into toads rather than princes.
Now, you might be thinking that I am the problem. You might be wary that I am shifting blame when I am the certifiable nut. Although I have my own neurotic tendencies and am by no means Allah’s gift to all mankind (side note: my name does mean "helper of mankind)---these experiences are ones that have no other explanation other than the guy is a freaking ratard (yes, ratard, as in the quote about "Rain Man" in the "Hangover." Plus, it cannot be all my bad juju because my dear friend who we will refer to as Glimmer is having many frog encounters as well!
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