On caffeination

There is a level of caffeination at which I’m perfectly productive. My focus is dead on, I tune out noise and incessant thoughts, and I am in The Zone. Capital T, capital Z.

This perfect blood content of caffeine, however, is extremely elusive.

Not caffeinated enough and I’m yawning, looking out the window, and watching the clock. Too caffeinated and I start overanalysis. I have 12 windows open on my computer and can focus only for one sentence at a time before thinking “Oh! I wanted to look up the pollen count today/how they make one-handed keyboards/the Pliocene period/the sale at Old Navy/the Phillies schedule/the weather for next Tuesday/the sodium content in Panera soups.” (True life.)

I’m in The Zone now, but about an hour ago I was in the dangerous hyper-caffeine land. I wrote a post about dating rules, and then realized that oh my god, I have broken every single one of these rules. What kind of blogger am I if I compile a list of rules about dating (based on other sources and my own petty thoughts) only to realize they’re completely hypocritical?

1. From lemondrop:  Drinking Red Wine on Dates Is the Best.

“There’s just something about red wine. Maybe it’s the image of a 1920s Parisian cafe, or the fact that it looks a little like blood, but red wine can turn any date into living literature. Unlike hard alcohol, which is like drinking liquid mistakes, or beer, red wine engenders the best conversations about nothing. Because that’s what most dates ultimately are — seemingly unending conversations about nothing. However, when you get drunk on red wine, every conversation gains the import of those whispered during the Last Supper. The story about a miscast reply-all that resulted in an awkward apology is suddenly incredible.”

Laura’s life: Beer. Light beer. Only beer. Five of them. Questionably classy.

2. From the Frisky: Theory: A Slight Attraction Imbalance Can Actually Be A Good Thing. “A staffer here—one who happens to be in a very happy relationship—swears that the best (hetero) relationships are always between men who love/are attracted to their women just a teensy bit more than the women love/are attracted to them. Interesting.”

Laura’s life: Wouldn’t it be nice! So would a million dollars.

3. Expect—and don’t give too freely—compliments.

Laura’s life: “Aw, you’re so cute. You have a great smile. I love your laugh. You have nice eyes.” STFU.

4. Make him wait—for you on a date (5-10 minutes), to text him back (at least 15), and to respond to his e-mails (20). A little bit of preoccupation creates tenfold the intrigue. After all, you have a fabulous, ridiculously busy and awesome life. If he’s free on Tuesday, you’re free Wednesday.

Laura’s life: Arrived for 7 p.m. date at 6:55. Respond to e-mails within 4 minutes. Write back to texts immediately after reading.

5. Speaking of intrigue, hold back on giving away all the information about you immediately. Don’t give up the info you don’t have to just yet. You want to make him wonder.

Laura’s life: Myriad get-to-know-you questions and lots of secret and story telling.

Shoot. Wow. I clearly don’t follow my own rules. I know that because of HJNTIY, I’m supposed to consider myself the rule, and never an exception (that movie is really great for the self-esteem, BTW). I know that I’m supposed to let myself be chased. That I’m supposed to play the game.

SHOCKER: I CAN’T.

In life, I’ll e-mail you right back. I’ll laugh at your jokes and make the best efforts to see you when I can. I’ll want you to call me and I’ll tell you everything about me, and expect you to do the same. I’ll wear my heart on my sleeve. I’ll tell you I love your shirt and that your hair looks sexy pushed back, and I’ll initiate dates with you. I’ll never leave you waiting at a bar for 20 minutes until I arrive and I probably won’t drink red wine because it stains my teeth.

All dating is like interviewing for a partnership that lasts forever. Why would I want to misrepresent myself? This is me, and I’m tired of the double-think, double-checking, “Is this breaking a rule?”

In the words of some lesbian in Rent, take me or leave me.