by Steve Clem on March 3, 2013

Many times I’m asked why I don’t have any good crazy dating stories to share on my blog anymore. After all, it was The Hickey Girl Date and The Parking Lot Date that made so many of you become addicted to my blog in the first place. Hmmm. Not sure what that says about me. Or you. But I do have an answer for you, faithful reader.

The answer for the last year is simple: first, I did deliver with two gem dates from last spring — The Eighties Girl and The Midget Date — both in the same night. You can read about them over at TheSpleen, where eventually — when I’m willing to give up this site I’ve been dedicated to for almost four years — my blog will migrate completely. Second, I’ve definitely prioritized my life for the last year, in the following order:
1) My sons,
2) My job,
3) My extended family,
4) My friends, and
5) My dating life.

And also, truthfully, I’m not willing to sacrifice my happiness in life anymore in the pursuit of an epic blog post. For the most part, my disaster dates have happened by pure accident, with a dose of naiveté. I’ll fully admit there were a few dates I’ve written about that I knew going in would be complete disasters, and thus great material for this blog. But I’m not doing that anymore. Deal with it.

The main reason is that I’ve learned something valuable over the past few years. Avoid dating anyone who:
a) has a hickey,
b) has an addiction to Jani Lane,
c) believes that they are on a master list of midgets, or
d) has the same definition of “sex” as Bill Clinton.

I guess I must be getting older. I’d say “older and wiser,” but I think that’s just a psychological rationalization of sorts. The only reason I’m wiser is because I’ve had more disaster dates than most of you, so I know how to spot them before they start.

Anyway, I just wanted you all to know that, in all likelihood, the crazy date stories are a thing of the past. I promise that if I happen to run across a crazy date — and if I haven’t already made a verbal agreement with said crazy date that I won’t write about her in a blog post — well, then I’ll share.

But frankly, you can’t win if you don’t play. And lately, I guess I don’t feel like playing. Games are for children. So I’m sitting here on a Saturday night, my kids ignoring me, alone. And I’m content with that. Because it beats the hell out of a whole lot of crazy.

So consider yourself warned. The next time you read about a date on here, it will likely be about my future (ex?-) wife.

If not . . . she’s going to be a midget, addicted to Jani Lane, with a hickey and a tongue ring, who likes to perform acts that rhyme with “palatial” (and for the record, my mother KNOWS what word rhymes with that).

* * * *

Steve Clem is a divorced dad, a recovering Republican, and a Prisoner in the Tundra. He is in The Guinness Book of World Records for being part of the largest Hokey Pokey of all time. He was the founding editor of the Iowa City weekly The ICON.

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