He’s just not that into me, so clearly something is wrong with him.

Sometimes it’s as easy as saying it, “he’s just not that into me” – eh, nexxt. But why is it that other times, it seems like there is no letting go.

I’m your classic single girl. Some might call me a serial dater, I would say that I am just picky. I refuse to compromise what I want for having a boyfriend just to have one. You wouldn’t keep mediocre friends around, so why keep mediocre men? Clearly, it’s illogical.

That being said, it’s easy to decide when you don’t want to date someone — but when they decide not to date you? Much more difficult to accept. I find myself caught in an ebb of confusion. This may seem vague to some of you, and repetitive to others. Regardless, pity party? No, thank you. I would hate to waste such a nice pair of ta-ta’s on a girl that throws herself pity parties.

It just BUGS me though. Seriously, it bugs the living day lights out of me. Some of my closest guys friends are people that I have dated, and realized it wouldn’t work — not always on my own terms, I might add. So excuse me if someone disappearing for no apparent reason irritates me. And don’t even get me started on the social stipulations of being dropped on Facebook and MySpace. Talk about a slap in the face.

This brings me to my next point, I am amazing.

Yea, I said it. I friggin’ rock. When was the last time you met someone as fun as me? Yup — haven’t. So there it is folks, my awesomeness is far to intimidating for these boys to manage.

Since I have solved THAT equation: Lara + boys her age = booooo … let’s cover the men within my maturity level.

Recently I was set up on a blind date with one of my hairdresser’s clients sons who was supposedly “30.” Let me start right of by saying he was to be 35 this month. Been there, done that. And he did not have the “at least he’s a firefighter” excuse I’ve tried using previously.

To start off this early afternoon date, we met at Sbucks for some coffee. He had been studying some law-related material which I immediately spilled my coffee on before even sitting down. Now not only am I obligated to stay and converse, I have spilled coffee all over this poor man’s literature. My cheeks started to heat up, and all I could think was that he probably thought I was so nervous I spilled — rather than the truth, which is I am just a natural clutz.

Two hours later and I had no excuse to leave. No fake phone call. No family emergency. And even if someone offered the opportunity up, I doubt I would have taken it. I’m too nice. (Seriously! I am.) I awkwardly left with a hand shake, and immediately began to check my various missed texts and calls. Another miss. Another next.

The good news is, I totally pre-dated him for Teresa…the pass off is the only tricky part…any ideas?

Oh, and did I mention he drove down from Bellingham?