Someone Hit the Panic Button

I shall now proceed to transcribe for you the actual conversation I had with a dear old friend last week.

Me: I have to talk to you.
Her: Oh, geez, are you pregnant?
Me: No! Geez, why do you always have to assume the worst? We just need to discuss what I did this weekend. I need perspective.
Her: Oh, geez, is X. back in town? Did you hook up with him again?
Me: No! Geez, you really do think highly of me, don't you? Besides, X. is still in Singapore. Anyway, it does have to do with dating.
Her: Oh, geez, did you--
Me: NO! Whatever you were going to say, NO! You will not guess it! Let me talk and then we can do the psychoanalysis part.
Her: OK, OK, calm down, psychofreak. What did you do this weekend?
Me: I read a book.
Her: You called me in the middle of the night to tell me you read a book this weekend?
Me: It's 10 pm! What are you, 85?
Her: Says the girl who's been shopping at Ann Taylor since she was 10.
Me: They have high-quality, classic tailored pieces! You're all just jealous that you didn't discover it sooner!
Her: OK, Betty Sue. Tell me that part about Talbot's again?
Me: We are so far off topic here. You are distracting me.
Her: Fine. I will humor you. You read a book.
Me: Yes. It was a dating book.
Her: You read a dating book?! Desperate city!
Me: It gets worse.
Her: Oh, geez, what have I told you about these self-help books?
Me: Hey, Dr. Kevin Leman helped me learn alot about my tormented soul! Someday, I will actually be able to afford therapy with him. Of course, he will probably be dead by then. Or at least in a nursing home.
Her: At risk of regressing to eighth grade, you are a FREAK.
Me: But you know you love me. XOXO.
Her: OK, Gossip Girl, finish your story. Just give me the bad news straight up.
Me: It was a Christian dating book.
Her: (snorting) Crap! You owe me a new sweater and another bottle of $6 wine! A Christian dating book? Was it like "I Kissed Dating Goodbye" or "Let Jesus write your Love Story" or geez, what else did the youth group kids read?
Me: First of all, what is this $6 wine and is it tasty? I'll buy you a box of Franzia if you ever come visit me! Second of all, no, it was not one of the youth group books. Geez, I've not completely lost my mind.
Her: So, what was it?
Me: It was a humorous look at dating by a 20-something Christian woman.
Her: (snorting) Geez, again with the wine! Did you read that off the back cover of the book?
Me: No, I made it up! That was my personal synopsis.
Her: So what on earth made you decide to pick up this book, out of everything in Barnes and Noble?
Me: Well you know, I'm well into my quarter-life crisis, and I just read "The Panic Years" and--
Her: You read "The Panic Years"? Do you not listen to me at all? What have I told you about these literary choices? Can you not just read a Jane Austen novel for dating perspective like the rest of us?
Me: I read all of Jane Austen's novels by sophomore year of high school! I am well beyond Jane's help at this point!
Her: You're barely halfway through your twenties! Calm down!
Me: But see, that's the point! Why am I like this? I don't want to get married! I don't need a man in my life to be fulfilled! I'm a feminist, damn it!
Her: Roar, woman! So, what's the problem?
Me: Well, the book kind of... made sense.
Her: If you utter the word "courtship," I am hanging up the phone right now.
Me: No! That's just it! The girl who wrote this book even said she thought the whole "dating/courtship" debate was ludicrous. I was like "Yeah! Where were you when I was getting shunned by the youth group for that perspective!"
Her: So, really, why this book? Why did you pick it up?
Me: Well, I guess I was just looking for a different perspective. At risk of being lame, a moral perspective? I mean, I love my SATC lifestyle as much as the next girl, but it's not going to last forever. In fact, if it lasts forever, I'll shoot myself. If I'm still single when I'm Carrie Bradshaw's age, I'm joining a convent. After all, I do look good in black. Although I'd have to see if there's a way around the wimple thing, because I don't do hats without brims.
Her: True, hats without brims are not a good look on you. Remember the backwards baseball cap debacle of 1998?
Me: Must you kick me when I am down? And since we're speaking of awful trends of the past, you took down that picture of us in your apartment, right, the one where we are on the beach and I am wearing those ridiculous overall shorts over a bathing suit and looking truly heinous?
Her: (shiftily) Yeah sure, I took it down.
Me: I don't believe you.
Her: Moral perspective, remember? Why the sudden interest?
Me: I don't know! I was hoping you could shed some light on it!
Her: It's not that out of the realm of possibility, Miss I attend Mass every week and recently signed up to be a Eucharistic Minister. You are a moral person. You're way more Charlotte than Samantha.
Me: OK, can we please not compare me to any of them at this point? And I did the Eucharistic Minister thing as a way to meet men! Add that to my credit towards my one-way ticket on a freight train to hell! So, anyway, then, not long ago I was talking to a friend and she said something about a friend of hers who married a youth minister, and I was like "awww, I would marry a youth minister!" I mean, where did that come from? I'm supposed to marry an investment banker! Or a hedge-fund manager! Or a jet-setting CEO of a multinational corporation!
Her: Man, you really don't dream small do you?
Me: No! I don't dream small! So why am I now so desperate to settle that I'm reading ridiculous dating books, Christian or otherwise, and planning my life as Mrs. Youth Pastor of Bumbleton, Iowa?
Her: Are you really doing that?
Me: Well, not quite. I'm totally not resigned to the Bumbleton, Iowa part yet.
Her: But it's OK to change your mind. It's OK to decide that would be OK. Or to open your mind to other possibilities than being a hard-nosed New Yorker for the next 3/4 of your life. Even if that means a youth minister. Even if it means a convent.
Me: I was kidding about the convent.
Her: I know. But you need to calm down. Stop freaking out. Open yourself to the possibilities. You are a Christian. And need I remind you that all of the guys you've seriously dated have been church-goers? I know you're running away and this whole "Christian dating book" thing seems like a blast from a past you're trying to forget, but it's not that bad. You don't have to be wacko about it, just like the girl in the book wasn't wacko about it. Just open your mind.
Me: Thanks, Oprah. I knew I could count on you.
Her: OK, Gayle. If I may continue on my soapbox for one more minute, it's just to remind you that you took a personality test in 12th grade that was supposed to tell you when you'd be ready to get married--
Me: Oh, yeah, I remember that! It sounds like something out of Cosmo, but it was totally a graded thing for religion class.
Her: Oh, 12th grade. Yes, and do you remember what your test said?
Me: Something like "28 and 6 months."
Her: It was "28 and 9 months."
Me: Why on earth do you remember that? Are you stalking me? Creepster...
Her: Oh please! You were like the only person in the class whose answer was above 24. And the teacher used you as a case study and warning against women who were too involved in their careers, and you told him where to shove it.
Me: Oh yeah. I forgot about that. Then he tried to give me detention for my language, but the disciplinarian thought it was a joke.
Her: Exactly!
Me: That's all well and good, but if I'm supposed to be married by the time I'm 28 and 9 months, and I have to be engaged for at least 9 months so I can get the pretty church and also so they can be certain I'm not knocked up, and I want to date for at least a year before getting engaged and preferably more like two years because we all know that it takes me a while to achieve a functional relationship, that means I need to meet and begin to date the person I will eventually marry, like, right now.
Her: But that's not the point! Remember that girl who spent the entire class period arguing with the teacher so the rest of us could study for the trig test the next period! The take no prisoners, kick butt, I will marry my CEO when I'm good and ready and whether I'm 28 or 38 or 88, it will be when the time is right for me and I will not live in a trailer and work for my dad and never get out of this two bit town girl. You're out! You're living the dream!
Me: But now I don't know if it is the dream. Maybe this book is a way of showing me that the dream is actually a nice church-going guy and a picket-fenced house in the suburbs.
Her: Maybe it is. That's what I told you. It's OK to change your mind. You've tried one dream. If it's not right, try another.
Me: I suppose you could be right. You're good at this. Almost as good as Dr. Kevin Leman.
Her: I know. It's why they pay me the big bucks.
Me: Believe me, if my insurance would pay for therapy, I would designate you as my mental health professional.
Her: Gee, that means a lot. By the way, don't think I'm forgetting about the box of Franzia you promised me.
Me: Don't think that I'm forgetting about the visit you promised me!
Her: Oh yeah, since we're on the topic of men and Christian dating, how's that guy you liked from your church?
Me: Do you mean "Cute Joe?"
Her: Yeah, have you talked to him yet?
Me: Um, yeah. Turns out we now have to refer to him as "Cute, Gay Joe."
Her: Oh, bummer. Not quite the dream, huh?
Me: Guess I keep looking. And reading.

Conclusion: I am insane. And in need of therapy. And lucky to have a dear old friend and a cell phone plan that offers unlimited nights and weekends.