Visible Panty Lines in Open Diary 2001-2018 (Pre-Prosebox)

It’s Saturday night, and I just went down to the basement to do my laundry. Seems lots of other people have the same idea. The gorgeous girl from the first floor with the luscious, long brunette curls was filling up the last washer when I came down with my basket brimming. She made a comment about it being Saturday night…and that we all must be pretty bored tonight. I should have asked her to come up and hang with me tonight. Maybe I’ll mention it to her if I see her down there on the next trip. Does that sound pathetically desperate? I don’t mean it in that desperate way. I just think she’d be a cool person to get to know. Then again. Maybe I won’t. I’m trying to plan a party (uh yeah, like for months now), and I think I’ll invite her then. That seems a bit less psycho, doesn’t it?

And while we’re on the subject of desperate…I’ve been keeping this completely hush-hush, but dammit. This is my diary. If I can’t spill stuff here, then there’s a problem. Anyway. I signed up to do one of those speed dating things. You know, where you get introduced to like 30 guys in 5-minute increments? Yeah. I’m doing it on Monday night. And I’m a bit/lot nervous about the whole thing. My self-esteem has plummeted since I moved here. I just don’t think I really fit into that Midwestern mold or something. I don’t feel like I’m attractive to guys here. Except maybe for guys who immediately want to get into my pants. All of the “nice” girls my age have been taken for a while now. They marry young here. So it’s like there must be something wrong with me, right? 35 and never married?? Practically unheard of ‘round these parts.

So then, why do I think that this speed dating thing will be any different? Because actual conversation will be forced. Hopefully, I’ll get to talk to some decent men who will be able to see that I’m not some kind of freak. Hopefully, they’ll see that I’m not a horribly bitter bitch with tons of baggage (I’m going to try to hide that side of me for one evening—ha). I don’t know. I just feel like I’ve kind of lost something (appeal?) lately. And it’s such a depressing downward spiral.

And yes, I know I don’t need a man to define myself. I’ve said it time and time again. I love my own company. But I’d really, really like one in my life.

So whatever. I’m going to try this. Because I certainly can’t wait to be approached at the supermarket or in the bars around here. The guys here are definitely not like the Dallas guys I got so used to (they must pump testosterone into the water)…..although….a pretty fine-looking dude did smile and sing to me out his car window as I was leaving the gym today!

Eh. Whatever happens, I’m sure it will make for at least one decent (if not embarrassing) entry.

Laundry calls…

Okay, I just took the trash out to the dumpster and remembered something that I keep forgetting about. For about a week now, at almost the exact time each night, just as I’m just drifting off to sleep, someone has been setting off fireworks by the dumpsters. Very odd. One night it was like the big flashy kind that make that whistling noise as they fly up into the sky and then light up. And each night, I’ve jumped straight out of bed, but then somehow easily drifted back to sleep. Until last night. I think it was mostly firecrackers and maybe something else. But then I heard sirens. And I still didn’t think too much about it because I hear sirens on a fairly regular basis. But last night, I heard the sirens stop somewhere close by. And then I heard the sound of water being sprayed on the dumpsters. Neat. Someone’s setting our dumpsters on fire. I’m curious if I’ll hear them again tonight.

Well, enough rambling for this lovely, windy Saturday night. I need to go hang the unmentionables to dry.