They say that just like assholes, everyone has an opinion. And just like assholes, most of those opinions usually stink. Well I’m pretty sure that this can be said of the opinions and “advice” of my married friends and relatives when it comes to discussing my love life, or lack thereof.
It has become evident that I am slightly obsessed with the fact that I am in my mid 30’s and currently single with no prospects on the horizon. I’ve spent some time during my recent dating hiatus trying to figure out why this has become an obsession of mine (I mean, I started a blog about it for f*ck’s sake!), and I have reached certain conclusions.
I was 25 years old when I met the man I would eventually marry…and divorce 7 years later. I remember spending a lot of time in my late teens and early 20’s crying over random, loser guys and wondering if I would ever find the “one.” Truth be told, I would love to go back and punch that whiny girl in the face. If I knew then what I know now…let’s just say that heartache in early adulthood is a walk in the park compared to heartache at 35. I would give anything to go back to that time, that time before real life, real jobs, mortgages, and ex-husbands and just shake myself. I would love to tell my old self that the next 10 years were going to be quite trying and would test me in every way possible; that I would need to develop some thick skin and learn some better coping skills.
I haven’t had much luck when it comes to love (shocking, I know). Sure I’ve been in several long term relationships, and was even married for a little while, but I’ve never been able to make anything stick. Whether they left me, I left them, or we mutually agreed to split, the culminating result has always been the same – I always ended up being the last girl before they met THE girl. Continue reading
So, you’ve been single for awhile? Feeling a little down and out? Wondering why you keep finding yourself in one dead-end relationship after another; why every new guy who gets you a little excited and hopeful just ends up turning into another typical douchebag?
Well let me shoot it to you straight. It’s not you. You’re great (unless you’re not)! BUT, your game could definitely use some help. It’s possible that you are committing relationship sabotage and you don’t even know it. So with that in mind, here are some useful tips that may help prevent you from fucking up the next good thing that comes along:
There are two types of single women out there. Well ok, there are a lot more than two “types” of single women, but for the purpose of this blog I’m going to narrow it down to just two – single girl before 30 and single girl after 30, or B30 and A30. Both girls may be single at the exact same time, but they lead dramatically different lives.
I’ve spent some years being single both in my 20’s and in my 30’s, so I would consider myself to be an expert on this topic, and I can tell you that every time I hear a single girl in her 20’s complain about her singledom, I want to punch her in her throat.
These are the many ways that being single in your 20’s is a fucking cakewalk compared to being single in your 30’s:
I once spent 13 hours talking on the phone with a guy I met online. THIRTEEN HOURS! We had exchanged a few messages, then exchanged numbers, and then spent the entire night, until sunrise, telling each other our entire life stories. Conversation came so easily that the hours flew by before we even knew it. Needless to say I was pretty excited to meet him… which we were obviously going to do… because who spends 13 hours on the phone with someone and then doesn’t want to meet them? Right?? The next night we spoke for about another 6 hours – planning our first date as well as naming our future children together. We made plans to meet the following weekend. Then the night before we were supposed to meet, he sent me a text telling me that he had to leave on a “last minute business trip.” I never heard from him again. (P.S. He had the balls to check out my profile again a few months later. BALLS.)
I feel like I’ve heard about the so-called 50% divorce rate for as long as I can remember. But lately I am struggling to figure out where exactly these “experts” are getting their numbers from, especially since I seem to be the only girl that I know sitting home on the weekends with my thumb up my ass, while all of my friends are hanging with their husbands and kids. I am on nearly every dating site imaginable, and at this point I can’t open up an app without recognizing dozens of guys that I’ve already ignored on some other app. It’s the same sea of faces over and over again wherever I turn. And it blows. These “dating apps” used to at least be able to amuse and entertain me if nothing else, but they don’t even do that anymore. All they do now is create a sense of panic as I begin to realize that I will probably be alone for the rest of my life. I practically shit myself with excitement on the rare occasion that a new and attractive profile of a single man appears. However the hyperventilation and underboob sweat quickly subsides when I reach out to him and never hear back. I think it may be easier to catch Bigfoot than it is to catch the eye of any newbies, since they immediately get swarmed by all of the other piranhas the minute they create their profiles. The idea of fighting for a man’s attention is about as appealing to me as a yeast infection…
I’ve decided that if I am really going to blame anyone for my current situation I am going to blame my vagina. In fact, I have decided that I hold her 99% responsible for the demise of every single one of my relationships. Now don’t get me wrong, she and I have been besties for a while (except for that 7 year period in which she completely abandoned me during my marriage – but more on that at another time). In fact, she has become the one friend that I can count on to almost always make me happy….which is why it’s hard for me to say this – but I fucking hate the bitch.
So I was out at a bar the other night with my only other single friend. We had gotten some prime real estate at a high-top table by the bar, ordered some drinks, and waited for the hot single guys to start walking in. Clearly we must have been high, because at our ages (35 and 39) hot and single are practically oxymoron’s. If a really attractive guy walks in you can bet one of three things: a) he’s married, b) he’s gay, or c) he’s an enormous douchebag with intimacy issues. A hot, available, and emotionally stable guy is about as common as a unicorn. And if a unicorn were to trot into the bar I was in, the competition to lasso and mount that bitch would be fierce!