miss matching

Let’s set something straight right off the bat – this is not a blog about love.  This is a blog about the lack of love – the absence of butterflies, chemicals, connection, little popping hearts, etc.  These are the stories of when two hopeful people meet, and then let each other down… sooner or later.  Which, I am certain, happens a lot more often than love itself.  At least it does to me.  But I can't say that it hasn't been entertaining.

More specifically, this is a blog about love’s mishaps in a ski town.  Now, you may have heard that ski towns are notorious for their abundance of one thing – men.  Okay, yeah, and snow, too.  But mostly men.  Ski towns are the “Never-Never-Lands” of overgrown boys.  They are the places that allow men a degree of notoriety, accomplishment and pure manliness simply for making some perfect turns on a powder day.  Here, the number of digits on your salary (salary?), the size and price tag of your vehicle, the jumble of letters on your degrees, all pale in significance to the number of vertical feet you dropped last season.  And, much like Peter Pan, these ever-boys tend to live life with the charmingly fun, day-by-day, thrill-seeking, reckless abandon.  They move here for the snow, and look for a job as an after-thought.  But, like lost boys everywhere, they are in need of a girl to perfect the dream.  They are ever on the scout for their own personal “Wendy” to tag along for the ride.  And preferably one that can make powder turns just as sick as theirs.

As for myself, I moved here for a job, and the snow was an afterthought.  In fact, I hadn’t skied downhill in 10 years, since freshmen year of high school when I quit because none of my friends were skiers.  However, as a lover of mountains, I wasn’t put off by the locale.  And as a lover of boys in general, I wasn’t deterred by the “Boy’s Town” reputation.  Let me tell you, ladies, that if you’re looking for some dating adventures and a few good laughs, it’s not a bad place to be.  With a shockingly small amount of effort, I’ve landed myself in more dates in one year than I’d probably had in my life prior to moving here.  However, a warning – the saying for gals around here goes, “The odds are good, but the goods are odd”.  Which has been precisely the case.  Although for me maybe it goes a bit more like, “The bad ones you’ll bag, but the good ones have baggage”.  Sound familiar?

Time and again in this town, I’ve been “mismatched”.  I got my heart bruised a couple of times and bruised a few myself.  But in all this bumbling about, I’ve had some laughs and acquired a few stories.  I have a feeling I’m not alone in this. So I thought I’d share these non-love stories, if only so that a few people out there might shake their heads and say to themselves, “I know just what you mean”.

The point of this blog is not to humiliate anyone, and for that reason names have been changed, and I will keep this as anonymous as possible.  I may gently poke a little fun at the boys, but at myself as well.  I do realize however that these stories are extremely one-sided.  As for you, dear readers, judge me and my misadventures as you will, but be gentle.  I’ve got some tender spots.  And I promise you, if I do find the perfect match, I’ll shut right up.  That ain’t what this blog is about.