So, I’m newly single. Well, not really “newly,” but finally beyond the stage where every single song/TV show/movie/joke/reference/smell/taste/the action of breathing reminds me of him, and the stage where I feel like even my food has abandoned me after I’m done eating it. So I guess I’m just newly back to society and being as normal as a girl with a group of friends that openly describe themselves as badgers (probably the least attractive animal a girl can associate herself with – we’re not your typical Playboy/Snow/Puck Bunnies, that’s for sure) can be.
The best part of this has been re-connecting with my friends and my passions, for sure. I also live alone now (unless you count my cat) which has been the most amazing thing to ever happen to me. I eat in my bed, I watch ALLLLLLL the crappy TV I want, and I hog the shower. Bliss.
The worst part? The sea. As in, the sea that holds all those “fish” I’ve been hearing about during my past seven years of monogamy. I was told it was like a buffet of men to choose from, and the most fun I’ll ever have. What I’ve found is that it’s more like a typical Christmas party buffet, two hours after everybody has eaten and the cheese is starting to sweat: you’ll only eat it if you’re REALLY drunk and REALLY lonely. The following actually happened to me … and this is why I’m still single.
1.) After making my breakup real (aka making it real on Facebook), a man I used to work with approached me to express interest. I had never really thought about this before, but thought, “Hey, at the very least we’re friends, and it could be a fun night out to just catch up.” So I suggested a beer at a local pub. His reply? “So, is that place expensive? I’m not exactly ‘rich,’ as they say. How about you just come over to my place?” Really? Really. I’m not a coin-chaser, but there are so many things wrong with this:
- You basically just told me I’m not even worth $5.95 to you, and honestly, that’s just for your OWN beer. I would have gladly bought my own.
- I haven’t seen you in six years, and you invite me to your place. Yeah … ’cause that doesn’t sound like you want to date rape me while your roomie films it or anything.
- WORST BANTER EVER. I live for wit. So, sorry bud. CUT.
2.) During a night out on the town with some of my girlfriends, a 23-year-old boy (I say boy because I’m the old and dreadful age of 27) tries to pick me up in line by quoting Wayne’s World and Chappelle’s Show. So far? Very excited about this prospect. Nice smile, great banter, super confident. Up until he starting miming masturbating to the thought of me while choking himself out. Yup. THAT ACTUALLY HAPPENED TO ME.
3.) Being approached by dudes who honestly think that yelling the word “HOT” in my general direction will somehow be like casting a fishing line and hoping to catch something. Like, seriously?I put in the effort to:
- Shave my legs
- Tweeze my eyebrows
- Straighten/curl/put up my hair (and there’s a lot of it so this is no easy task)
- If I’m feeling particularly confident, taking care of down there (nothing is more enticing than the thought of standing on one leg in the shower with a razor butt in your mouth putting 1,345 pounds of shaving cream in your palms and saying a prayer to whatever you believe in that you have steady hands)
- Putting on makeup
- Putting on something that walks the line between trendy/slutty/doesn’t try too hard (actually VERY hard to do)
- Brushing and flossing (yes, I’m counting this, because I cannot believe how many men out there seem to have forgotten this long lost art … aka BASIC HYGIENE)
and so on. So, if you want a pretty girl, seriously, put .001 seconds of thought into it. PLEASE. Or else you can have an extremely hairy chick with bad teeth and steez. Up to you.
Here’s hoping my travels through this sea full of stinky fish catch me a quality tuna here soon. Because I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
(me … soon)