Ranting: A Memoir by Kristine Sullivan

Hold up. Hold the fuck up.

I don’t live in a Nora Ephron movie, do I? Then why exactly do I get reactions ranging from incredulous to pitying whenever I tell someone I asked a guy out on a date? So I like to get shit done rather than wait by the phone. Fucking sue me.

Here’s how the conversation usually goes:

Me: “Hey guess what? I have date with (insert name here).”

Friend: “Oh my gosh! He finally asked you out!”

Me: “No, no I asked him out.”

Friend: (with noticeably less enthusiasm) “Oh.”

Me: “Yeah. Well, we’re gonna hang out, get take-out, and watch a movie or something.”

Friend: “He’s not taking you out?”

Me: ” No…”

Friend: “Oh.”

Me: *internally screaming*

After about 2 or 3 more “oh’s” I mentally fling myself from the roof top.

So let me get this straight: I have the balls courage to put all the cards out on the table, tell someone how I feel, and somehow you’re embarrassed for me? That’s adorable. The best is when things don’t pan out as I had hoped and their immediate response is, “Well, you asked him out.” Oh yes. YES, that must be it. It must’ve been doomed from the start because I asked him out instead of leaving my romantic life in the hands of a man. Yes, brilliant. I was so blind before. Let me go dust off my crinoline and write up a dowry.