Explanation of the Search and the Madness

An example of my obvious love for musicians

Introduction

Ten years ago, if anyone told me that I wouldn’t be married at 25, I would have immediately broke out in tears. If that same messenger would have gone a step further and reported on my single status, I would have hung myself.

The reason is very simple. At 15 I thought my “other half’ would have entered my life by the time I was 18. At 21, I was supposed to have been married. Laughably, at 25, I was supposed to already be a mom.

Yet, here I am, a quarter of a century old. My left hand wears no ring and my last name is still my own. There is no fiance; no boyfriend. There isn’t even a prospect at this point. The above plan was obvious a result of an adolecent’s overzealous imagination. The whole “happily ever after” idea that was drilled into my toddler self obviously made itself present in each moment of this ridiculousy planned future I had planned for myself.

Even with that knowledge, though, there is still disappointment that my life turned out to be the complete OPPOSITE of everything that I wanted when posters still hung on my walls and my favorite breakfast food was ice cream.

Behind The Experiment

Ever since I hit puberty I’ve been mezmerised by musicians. Perhaps it is the raw sexual power they send out to us willing participants. It could be the attention they order us to give them with their music. It may even be that in a groupie’s mind, beneath that bad boy exterior, lies that Prince Charming our mother’s read to us about when we were children.

My perfect guy would be a mix of Tommy Lee, Nikki Sixx, Jon Bon Jovi, and Bret Michaels; much to my mother’s dismay.

In knowing this, you can now gain some insight into why I spent the majorityof teen years chasing after tour buses and making friend’s with hotel guards.

My mother wanted a daughter that came home with stories about their dates on a Friday night. I came home telling her how my favorite boy band member would have paid more attention to me had I bought that water bra the previous week at the mall.

There weren’t any real dates and there weren’t any big heartbreaks. I was too busy trying to win the affection of my guitar playing heroes.

Now that I’m older i’d enjoy putting my music chasing days aside and actually trying out my hand on dating a nice decent fellow.

While a handful of my friends keep telling me to date and date often my mother is constantly mentioning grand children and marriage.

What do I want? I want to date without games and drama and find the one relatively quickly because the dating game is murder causing.

When do you call? When don’t you call? How long do you wait to text back after they text you? Seriously…who wants that when all you really want is someone that is going to love you for each and ever nutty idea that comes out of your mouth?

The Experiment

My mission is to find “My Other Half” by the time my 27th birthday comes. That is exactly a year, two months and twenty three days from today.

After every outting to find this supposed “Prince Charming” I’ll write about my adventure and intitle it “My Other Half Could be…” When, and I’m sure this is more likely the case, I find another male whore with a man child complex I will write “My Other Half Isn’t” post.

My hope is that by the time my 27th birthday rolls around I will be able to prove to all fallen romantics that love actually exists; I include myself in that category.

If not, well, I suppose I’ll have a very public account of each embarrassing moment that I would have put myself through for the search for someone who may not even exist.

This should be an interesting ride….

Let the games begin. First stop is El Rio Grande in New York City….