Recently, while considering my standard evaluation of the empty weekend ahead, I came to a crucial realization regarding my obsolete relationship status. It struck me at about the same time I realized that the only two men who had seemed remotely attracted to me in the past week had been a creepy “artist” named Bernardo who mumbled anything-but-sweet nothings under his breath, and a crush who tried to use flirtation to finagle money out of me.

It has taken many, many internal debates, and even more painful conversations with my girl friends, to reach a climactic point in my self-reassessment. I have finally stopped asking myself, “What’s wrong with me?” and wonder instead, “What’s wrong with THEM?”

What is wrong with all the single, eligible men in our city? What has dating come to?

I’ve spent years watching my friends date, and suffer the same hardships as me. We’ve spent so much time deciphering text messages and conversations, crying over the heartaches and mixed signals. The cheaters, the egotists, the jerks have sent us into an over-analytical tailspin. No matter what crazy scenario we construct in our heads to excuse the pathetic men in our lives, we do. These are the scenarios soap operas and over-the-top WB teen dramas are made of.

But things are changing.

Now those same girls who dated the bad boys, the players, and the outright psychos are finding their matches. Although some of their significant others remain questionable as far as sanity is concerned, they find far fewer reasons to question men and what’s wrong with them.

Still, my friends all seem to be moving forward with their relationships, while my love life has gone from struggling to imminent extinction. I’ve run out of theories to explain this phenomenon, and finally accepted the fact that I am not suffering from “Shallow Hal” syndrome.

I know great men in this city, and can no longer justify that someone must be a loser because they haven’t yet asked me out. And I am not only well aware that I’m a catch, but also can’t accept that my greatness has reached an intimidating level.

I don’t believe that “it will happen when I least expect it,” because if my expectations were any lower, I’d already be living the life of a recluse. I refuse to believe that I have to kiss more frogs to find my prince, because if college taught me anything, it’s that slutty antics get you nowhere.

And I’ve finally come to the conclusion that I DO deserve better than someone who has already rejected me.

So, I have decided to do something proactive: It’s time to tackle the anomaly that is dating by throwing myself into it. Head first.

Thus begins my case study on dating in New Orleans — and the obstacles involved. I am putting myself out there and reporting my adventures.

Hopefully it will answer questions; it is sure to cause hilarity.

I’m using all the available portals to learn about dating, the city, and myself. I have accepted that this blog may add to the reasons why I’m still single, but I hope by the end to have solid understanding of NOLA relationships, and advice for other girls looking for a way out of the dating rut.

If love is a battlefield, then the New Orleans dating scene is the demilitarized zone between North and South Korea. It’s dangerous and complex, and I am going into it unarmed.

I am not on a mission for love, but a quest for answers. Stay tuned.

Pookie Lola (the name will be explained in next week’s column) writes Crescent City (Mis)Connections weekly for NolaVie.