What does "my type" mean, anyway?

So my last post was about Alex. That didn't go so well. I ended it after the first date. He was not my type. So, what is my type?

Not Alex.
Not Wade.
Not Cameron.
Not Andrew.
Not Erik.
Not Eric.
Not Neal.
Not Chris.
Not Scott.
Not Josh.

You'd think I'd have it narrowed down by process of elimination. You'd be wrong. I think I am destined to kiss every frog that hops into my pond. Who knows if any of them will ever be a prince.

My experience with Dave is intriguing to me. Mostly because the date with him is making me ask questions of myself. Honestly, I don't know if I'd even "see" him if he were walking down the street (if I hadn't already met him). I know what I was thinking when I did meet him, and I am ashamed of myself for it. I judged him as too dorky, too introverted, and too not-cool. What am I? Captain of the cheerleading squad? Is that part of the high school experience something I want to repeat? Who am I to judge? Apparently I'm a judgmental bitch on occasion.

I like to think of myself as an open-minded, free of prejudice, lover of people. I think I like to put myself on a pedestal. It's time to step down. I have faults. It's not always about the other person. Sometimes, it's about me too. Rather than looking for what is wrong with the other person all the time, I need to start putting some of that effort into seeing my own contribution to the problem.

To my own credit, I have overcome a lot to get where I am. Sometimes it feels like I've come so far that there can't be any further to go, but that is wrong. You are far from perfect, honey.

Love is a simple thing?