In which Miley Cyrus makes me sad

…But not for the reasons you think (which I am assuming would be the reason below):

This gem of a performance at the VMA’s happened on my last night in Chicago. My friend K, who came with me on the road trip to Cali, and I, sat at our friend’s apartment, watching for the anticipated and sorely disappointing 15-second ‘N Sync reunion.

Anyway. The next day, K and I embarked on the road trip that would bring me to my new home, Orange County. We got here on a Friday. Monday was Labor Day. I dropped her off at LAX for her flight home and then went home and took a nap before my date with Bachelor #1. And thinking about all of this makes me sad, and Miley Cyrus is an instant trigger to all of this.

I moved out here for my job, which I completely love. What I do NOT love is how badly I misjudged the situations with Bachelor’s 1 and 3, and how I came on this journey not expecting to meet anyone because I was essentially moving to a big suburb and in the matter of a very short time had my hands full in a way I could not handle.

What I do not love is the constant frustration I feel that B1 is back with his ex, B3 dropped off the face of the planet, my new crush, C, has no interest in me, and I feel generally like a troll surrounded by happy couples. It’s not that I can’t be happy being single, it’s that this triple middle finger I’ve gotten in 2014 is slightly demoralizing. And triggered by Miley Cyrus.

A sort of not really review: The Between Boyfriends Book

Cindy Chupack was a writer on Sex and the City, and wrote a book (published in 2004) that Susan insisted that I read: The Between Boyfriends Book: A Collection of Cautiously Hopeful Essays.

I started reading this earlier today and this shit is hilarious. For example, Chapter One’s title: Lone Rangered. The definition of course is “to have had a relationship end in a mysterious annoying way – with no good-bye, no answers, just the vague feeling that you have no idea who that man was.” And I will also throw in an addendum to that ….”and you wonder if you made the whole thing up in your head and since there is no photographic evidence that you dated, maybe your friends think you made him up too, and oh GOD how many of your past relationships lack any sort of photographic evidence and what is going ON?” Not that this applies to my current situation or anything.

She talks about Sexual Sorbet and how “you don’t want your ex to be the last guy you slept with. You need to put some distance between the two of you, and five to seven inches ought to do it.” She recommends using an old fling and then I realize … was I B3’s proverbial sorbet that he needed to get over the ex-future Mrs. B3 even though I thought it could be more even though yes I know he TOLD me he didn’t want anything serious but sometimes did confusing things that made me think he was my boyfriend because my bar for comparison had been set so low because it took me five years to figure out that John Doe was left handed because we never did things together that required him to write or sign a credit card slip for the dysfunctional love of GOD what is wrong with me?

There’s a relationship equivalency exam for both men and women. Let me take mine here:

1) English: When you say, “I’m not in a rush to get married,” define rush.

Answer: So, bringing saved photos of rings I like to the first date is bad, right?

2) Math: Is the amount of minutes it takes you to evaluate a date as a potential husband more than or equal to the amount of minutes it takes you to identify and ignore red flags?

Answer: What?

3) Psychology: Other than abject fear, what are some possible reactions to the words, “I need space?”

Answer: I need wine?

Questions 4 & 5 are essentially about cohabitation and therefore I am not qualified to answer so I guess if this were a pass/fail type of format I’d fail, because is incomplete an option?

She defines Halloweenies as dudes who will break up with you on Halloween so they don’t have to go through the holiday season with you and if you don’t break up on or before October 31st you are basically obligated to stick it out through New Years because what kind of rat bastard breaks up with someone over the holidays? (Lots, I am sure, for both sexes)

She talks about the dreaded “f” word – friends, which B3 used a lot in the same sentences he would talk about our dates, and when he initially offered to be my friend, I was all “sure” and look where that got me, and Chupack wrote something that hit way too close to home, which is that you basically have to accept the offer of friendship because if you don’t, it’s essentially giving them the satisfaction of knowing it’s too hard to be around them, and this is satisfaction on top of the ego boost from them already rejecting you, so even though deep down all the way to your bone marrow you KNOW that you should tell them to take a flying leap, when faced with the offer of friendship, you inevitably have to accept. And then when you, say, spend six hours watching football and having a blast, you wonder why you can have so much fun, yet they still don’t want to date you?

This brings me to Chapter 30: DO NOT RESUSCITATE ROMANCE (DNRR) ORDER. Which is exactly what it sounds like, which is why Susan told me to read this, because I have broken this rule now four or five times with Mr. Man. It’s my exact situation in print – knowing we had no future but continuing to date him and then becoming upset when the no future thing never changed (and never will). It’s time for me to regain my focus and get back to my “Hey Baby” weight and by the way this book is hilarious and everyone should read it.


Facebook: a rabbit hole

You know how sometimes you’re bored and on Facebook so you start stalking people and pretty much figure out that one guy you went on that one date with who said you were so amazing but he wasn’t ready for a relationship is now in one? Well, this is what I have to say about that:

Yes, this would be Bachelor #1, the same Bachelor #1 who told me he was so not ready but that I was so amazing that he would set me up with someone else. Ummm, I am very familiar with the “you’re amazing but…” speech, so kindly shut it.


It’s not like I am even still interested in B1, it’s just that, like, why all the lies? I think guys would rather cut off their own arm than say, “thanks, but no thanks,” because it would be harder for them but would spare you the 90000 hours of over analyzing whether or not the way you accidentally flung your fork across the restaurant wildly gesturing about a sports call you were unhappy with would be considered a deal breaker.

Don’t get me wrong, girls do it too – we hate to have the uncomfortable convo where we’re all, “I know I seemed interested in you, but I would have made out with a plant that night, sooooooo kthxbye.”

But anyway – in the days before social media, it was harder to find these things out. Now it’s just there for us to see in about ten seconds flat, provided privacy settings don’t get in our way.

I do have a crush on someone, and I feel like I’m 14. It’s complicated because we have a professional relationship, so I can’t pursue it and make it awkward. Cheers to suffering in silence?

A Nightmare

*Disclaimer: There was one more recent B3 incident (Yes, I’m aware I said I could never see him again at the beginning of January. Yes, I’m aware that I’m an idiot) that ended with my heart being rammed into a paper shredder (way too overdramatic but I don’t care), and no, I’m not going into details because they ultimately do not matter. The one detail that matters is that I blocked him in my phone and on Facebook so that he cannot suck me back in.*

I’m running down what I can only assume is Rue de Rivoli, after B3 and I just left The Lovre. It’s Thanksgiving Day, and I am ready to bring him home. I chase after him as we go to find his car. We somehow got to Paris from Concord, NH, and now it is time to go back so I can bring him home, so he doesn’t have to spend Thanksgiving alone. I’m texting my mom as we run, to tell her he’s coming home with me. I look down for one second. Then I look up. And he’s gone.

So I stop running and wait. But I realize he can’t call me, because I’ve blocked him on my phone. As soon as I remove him from my block list, a barrage of texts come through. The only one I see is, “OK, I don’t feel as much rage today as I did before.” He’s been texting me for over two weeks. I start to cry. I try to call him and it goes straight to voicemail. I don’t know how we got to Paris, but I know I don’t have my passport. I’m stranded. A random stranger approaches. Tells me he won’t leave me until I figure out a way home, and that I shouldn’t worry.

In a flash, I am jolted out of this nightmare. My alarm clock is going off and I realize it’s over – the dream, the nightmare, everything. I get up, go to work, it’s business as usual. But when I see that Princeton Mom has returned, I go to a bad place. Princeton Mom, as you may or may not recall, got ASOVBD Bitch Pleased last March for writing a letter to the Daily Princetonian saying any girl who doesn’t snag a husband in college is screwed for life – not literally, of course, because if you’re not married by 22, no one will ever want you.

Well, on Valentine’s Day, she reared her ugly and unhelpful head, again, by writing a gem of a column for the Wall Street Journal. The paragraph that really jumps out for me, is this one:

An extraordinary education is the greatest gift you can give yourself. But if you are a young woman who has had that blessing, the task of finding a life partner who shares your intellectual curiosity and potential for success is difficult. Those men who are as well-educated as you are often interested in younger, less challenging women.

Pause for reaction:

Is she reading this shit? She’s completely contradicting herself here in saying education is important but smart guys will want to marry someone else who is younger and dumber? I can’t with this woman. I am not going to get in to her points about how we should spend less time focusing on work and more time focusing on husband hunting and oh but once you hit 25 it’s too late, sorry, whoops. Her whole column is just depressing. There is no way I would have married anyone I met in college. And you can’t road map a timeline for falling in love. It’s not something that you can check off your To-Do list for Saturday.  Sometimes you walk into a fucking Chili’s to watch a baseball game and fall in love without even realizing it.

This is not about women’s lib or feminism, or anything like that. This is life. And you cannot plan it. And you cannot make some wild generalization that if you don’t meet and marry someone by your mid 20’s, that it will never happen for you. It might never happen for me, but if my options are to settle and be miserable, or just be alone, I’ll take alone every damn day.

I like that I can support myself, but I also like having doors held open for me and being walked to my car at the end of a date. You know, chivalry, and all that. Patton makes me feel like it has to be one or the other, and you can’t have both. Would some dude really want me relying on him financially and emotionally? I doubt it.

My nightmare was on Thursday night. Last night, I had a dream B3 showed up at my door to apologize. I hate that cliche “time heals all wounds,” but I know/hope that one day I will wake up and not be in this much pain, watching Armageddon at 6am on a Sunday, crying at every point.

More guilt

Last week, I had an interesting conversation with one of my friends, stemming from a separate conversation with someone else. One of my friends told me a few people had been saying horrible things to her about her posting text and OKCupid messages on her Instagram, basically saying, “no wonder you’re single.” I found that to be a bit harsh and incredibly rude. She posts these things with comments in an attempt to keep a sense of humor about dating in general.

Dating in your 30’s is not the same as dating in your 20’s. It seems like there is a lot more at stake, for the girl, if she wants to have kids, and feels the clock is a-tickin’.

When you wind up stuck in the three-date curse or sitting in a parking garage crying or getting ridiculous texts, etc, sometimes all you can do is try to laugh it off. I bet these people, who said such horrible things to my friend, are all Taylor Swift fans. Well, every single one of her fucking songs are about dating gone awry, yet she is famous, makes a gajillion dollars a year and has won every award imaginable. And I mean, Jagged Little Pill, hello? While I still wholeheartedly refuse to believe that album was about Uncle Joey, it became the breakup anthem for a while and launched Alanis Morissette into uncharted waters. And while she has not actually spoken up about who inspired the song “You Outta Know”, she still wrote it, so we know it was about someone and came from a very dark place.

Anyway. I find comments like that, “no wonder you’re single,” to not only be hurtful, but are also more than likely coming from a very hypocritical place. And all these people were single until they weren’t.



But it did get me thinking a lot. Is that what people think about me? No wonder I’m single because of this blog and book (the book that’s like, 500 words at this point after I lost it all when my laptop shit the bed)? Mr. Titspervert once told me I should not feel guilty about writing about him, and that was a comment I appreciated, especially because it was unsolicited.

So, I asked one of my guy friends what he thought. He said I shouldn’t feel guilty, but at the same time need to think about how I’d feel if these guys were writing about me. That kind of sent me to a bad place. I leave out really personal and identifying details, but it was pointed out to me that I should not act like I am doing them a favor for leaving out details. Then I was all, “wait a minute, like four people read my blog, who actually cares?”  I try to make this a mostly humorous take on dating disasters and keep it lighthearted. Maybe did a bad job of that recently in regards to B3.

Another thing I’ve been thinking about came up on Facebook. My friend Amy moved to Boston recently and just started dating someone. She has been posting cute little updates about their dates, but nothing overly personal or even remotely out of line. Then I log in earlier in the week to see her status as the following (and yes, I asked her if I could use it):

So I’ve been getting a lot of flack offline for “over sharing” on Facebook this past week regarding my dating life. Here’s what I have to say about it. A) this person is not on Facebook. B) I have selflessly liked all your wedding/baby/whatever posts for years. C) If you have a problem with what I share on here, unfriend me. D) I haven’t dated anyone in SIX YEARS. Every time I post a dating update I deserve resounding applause. For all the above reasons. I’m done with your complaints. Shut it and attempt to be happy for me. Love and thanks 🙂

First thing’s first: pause for reaction:



Second of all, she makes an interesting point, in that why is it okay for us to post things about relationships becoming permanent (engaged, married, etc) but not about being excited about the early stages? Not even kidding, I was planning on posting the first pic taken of B3 and I (there wasn’t one) and just posting it with the caption “Suddenly I See” or something like that because I was g-o-n-e but such a picture does not exist and then we were Facebook friends briefly and I kept all comments about my dating life completely absent because I wanted to be mindful of his feelings and I do hate when people over share in an uncomfortable way on Facebook or when couples fight on Facebook. But that’s not what Amy was doing at all. And it was great to see her school everyone, because she has a very valid point.

Should I feel bad about making fun of myself for some bad decisions I’ve made? No. And I really do try to make it more about me than them, not in a selfish way, but so it doesn’t come across that I will write about every single person that I date. That is not the goal at all. The original intent was to focus on 2007-2013, my years in Chicago, and the incredibly stupid yet hilarious things that happened. When I moved to California, I was not expecting to date or meet anyone for a while, it just happened, and I see myself repeating a bad pattern with B3, which is how I ended up writing about him. It’s more for me to work things out through writing, rather than to be hurtful to them or overshare-y or anything like that, yet I sit here trying to justify a very personal decision as if anyone even cares. Does anyone even care? Am I thinking too much?

There is no right answer here because obviously some people are not going to like what I write, but I’m not going to stop doing it.

Something I actually had to say earlier

I was on the phone with one of my friends telling her about a very weird message that I got from John Doe over Words With Friends chat or whatever. Her first question of course was, “why are you even playing with him?” And my response of course was, “because I’m bored.”

However – back to the weird message. He had just beaten me, so I started a rematch game, which is normal. And I get, “are you a quitter in real life, too?”

First of all –

Second of all – per usual, I have no idea what he’s talking about, which was essentially what I wrote back, and Katie (rightfully) said to me, “Way to stand up for yourself.” And while, she’s right, what I then had to say, which sounded so ridiculous was, “I wasn’t going to tell him off over WWF chat!” Because really, the response to that would exceed many, many character limits.

I mean, I lost my job and moved my entire life half way across the country where I knew zero people. But yeah, sounds like a quitter to me. Jerkstore.


Debbie Downer returns

2014. It’s another new year. One of the reasons I HATE New Years as a holiday is because every Dec 31st I look back on the year and say, “Yep, failed at love again.” Now, don’t get me wrong – this is not me saying my life is necessarily incomplete, this is me saying that I consistently fail at the same thing over and over. I realize there is about  a month long gap that fails to elaborate on more of the B3 nonsense and it’s no longer relevant anyway because I can’t see him ever again. He sees me as a pair of boobs that he really likes instead of a person with feelings. This is no exaggeration. I essentially got a text that boiled down to: I’m here if you want to do x-rated things but I don’t want to hear about you being upset. Hey buddy, you can take those x-rated thoughts and shove it!


Yesterday, I told my therapist that I felt guilty for deleting B3 as a Facebook friend (BURN) and he said guilt is something you should only feel if you’ve done something wrong. I can’t sit there and go through his pictures and remember all the good stuff, and I am not going to let him get glimpses into my life since he obviously doesn’t care to be in it in any real way. And I know FB can be very superficial at times but at others it is handy for sharing life events, etc.

Not once, but TWICE in 2013 did I get the “you’re amazing but…” speech, which I fucking hate, because if I were really so amazing, there would be no BUT. I see your bullshit, and raise you an evil glare.

This needs to be the year that I don’t feel guilt: for standing up for myself or for demanding more, or better (i.e. being treated as a priority rather than an option or last resort); for letting go – of anger, of sadness, of things that don’t belong in my head, for keeping the past where it belongs, and for truly believing that this is B3’s loss and not mine. Good luck finding another chick who loves sports and hates shopping and is as refined as I am.