No one wants VD: Happy SAD!

Happy Single's Awareness Day, friends!  February 14th can be hard on singletons like us, but that's only because we let it be hard on us.  You're not alone. We're here for you, just as we always have been.  

Several years ago now, we simply decided that Valentine's Day wasn't a thing.  If anything, it only reminded you that you were single. If you've spent anytime single, like we have, you realize that you really don't need reminding of that.  Hence, Single's Awareness Day was born and the revolution has really took on.  It seems like every year, people care less and less about an overhyped commercialized day in the dead of winter.  Well, at least on the sane singleton front (Smug Marrieds are a different story).

It's not that we don't believe in love, we just don't believe you need a declared "holiday" to show love. It's not that we don't believe in romance, we just don't believe romance is defined by tacky gifts of the pink and red assortment.  Don't call us skeptical, pessimistic or bitter.  Love is what you make it, when you make it.  Not when the greeting cards tell you so.  Please feel free to use that explanation on that Smug Married coworker who feels the need to specifically ask you what your Valentine's Day plans are.  Then just smile, and wish her a good night on her rip-off of a prix-fixe menu dinner, her overpriced roses that will smell like cat feces in 72 hours, and that box of chocolates that will taste like shit, but she'll eat anyways after being disappointed by yet another Valentine's Day.  Who's smug now?

Who wears short shorts?

"Young lady, you've got the nicest legs in all of London."

At first it startled me, the man's voice coming out of the utility truck. He was eating a sandwich in the passenger seat (even though he was sitting on what I still think of as the driver's side) and, well, staring at my legs. Did I slap him? Did I make a dirty face and walk off in a huff about the indignity of being ogled liked a piece of meat.

Of course not. I smiled and said thank you. The English are just so damn polite, even when they're catcalling, it's hard to do anything but. It's not as if he said "Fancy a shag?", he just told me I had the nicest legs in all of London. And he seemed to be a pretty good authority on the situation. (I'm actually quite proud of my legs, and in this day and age women can admit when they've got it going on, right?)

I've been settling into The Life of a Londoner quite nicely, I think. I haven't been hit by a double-decker bus coming from the direction I'm not used to, people ask me for directions (and are surprised by my accent), I get a lot of reading done on the Tube, and I haven't embarrassed myself too badly by saying the wrong word or pointing out someone's fanny pack. (Note: Fanny = Vagina in British) However, I'm still getting hung up on pants. To me, pants are worn over your underwear. To the British, pants are worn under your trousers. Underwear. So if I tell someone I really like their pants, I'm bound to get an odd look. This is something I really must work on.

But most importantly, I've got friends! Obviously I've got Fen, but I'm filling up my phone contact list quite nicely with other students, just moved to London, and a few who are also On The Prowl. We have big plans to go out, meet men, have fun, and experience this awesome city. The Fun begins tomorrow. Grayer, now would be a good time to give me a Night Out Scavenger Hunt...

Yet another wedding story

Big news this week.  My best friend in the whole wide world got engaged!  Yay, Greenley!  I'm so excited/happy/not even the teeniest bit jealous.  Her man is awesome and I approve completely.  But back to my other engaged best friend, 9-year-Lisa and her loser fiancee.  I saw her over the weekend for yet another wedding dress fitting for her August wedding. NOTE: If your friend ever offers to make your wedding dress, say NO! What it will save you in money you will lose in parts of your soul.  And when this homemade dress makes you look like a oompa loompa, you will spend more money rush ordering a real one.  Never ever ever let a friend make your wedding dress (unless you are legitimately friends with Vera Wang, in which case...hook me up).  Also, listen to your brilliant and very pretty bridesmaid, who told you this was an awful idea to begin with.  She (and by she, I mean me) loses parts of her soul every time you call her worrying about your stupid dress when you should have just listened to her in the first place because she knows everything about everything, and she's so pretty.  But I digress.

I told Lisa about Greenley's engagement and said "I feel like everyone I know is engaged."  Two close friends, a co-worker friend, and a couple old colleagues from school have all gotten engaged in the past 5 months, so yes, that's everyone.  Or close enough.  It was just a casual statement, a somewhat overly dramatic casual statement.   It did not merit this completely serious response:

"Ya know, Grayer...my cousin...she's not anywhere near getting engaged...she's not even in a relationship...and she's 27...she's older than you."

"Ummm...What's that have to do with anything? I don't know her."

"Just...don't feel bad that you're not engaged."

Hold the phone!?! Was me stating I knew many engaged couples code for secretly crying about not being engaged with everyone else?! I mean, I'm not even in a relationship!? And I'm 26! I'm going to die aloooone!

Yeah, that's not at all what I was thinking when I said that.  But it's good to know that Lisa's thinking it for me.  What a great pretentiously smug married friend she is.  I know she feels bad for me for not being "anywhere near engaged," but I honestly feel bad for her.  I mean, look at her.  She stayed with a complete schmuck for 9 years just so she could get married in an unflattering homemade dress.  I'm sorry, I have a lot of priorities in my life, and being someone's wife is not one of them.

Merry, Happy

Merry Christmas friends!!

We hope that these past couple days have been filled with gawdiness (can you say, light-up inflatable lawn ornaments?), gluttony (I'm on my second food coma of the day), and glee.  Violet and I are currently watching our parents play Wii.  Yes, that's right, for the first time ever, the Bickerstaffs own a gaming system and it's not for us kids, its for our parents.  Our day has been spent being ridiculously competitive at virtual Resorts Sports with the parentals still figuring out how to hold the controllers, and still marveling at how similar they look to their Mii. 

Since we've been home, I've taken some time to go through the Christmas newsletters they've collected this year.  Why people feel the need to write these from their pets perspective is a mystery.  Why people feel the need to strictly write about their pets is just downright baffling.  But it's not the animals that are bothersome, it's all the babies.

Mona and her husband had a baby boy on Thanksgiving day.  Mary Jane is expecting her second in January.  Maurice proposed to his college girlfriend this fall, the wedding is planned for this summer.  Our family is growing fast, it's hard to believe!  What are your girls up to? It doesn't seem like those girl scout days could have possibly been so long ago!

So this made me curious.  What are we up to?   Not in real life, of course, but in the annual family newsletter life.  So I did a little digging on the family dinosaur computer and found our letter.  It's complete with a family photo from Disneyworld (I swear the day I showed my mom how to add a picture into a word document was one of her best days ever).  The fact that our parents are using a picture of them and their late-twenty-something daughters at Disneyworld should tell you something: In the world of Christmas newsletters, Violet and I don't have much going on.

Violet is still in Atlanta and at the same job.  She's applying for grad schools for next fall, yada boring yada.  Grayer is now in Boston.  She works in a lab with various bacteria and a DNA machine. Both will be home for Christmas.

And that was it.  Not only did it tell us that all that matters (in the newsletter world) is what we do, but it also tells us that my parents don't know what I do (what the hell is a DNA machine??).  Clearly our parents did not do as well at marrying off their daughters as their friends did.  But it's Christmas, and that means all that money they should be spending on son-in-laws and grandbabies, they're just spending on us.  Works for me.  

Boston on my mind

I've been living in Boston for 4 months now. If there is one thing I've noticed in Boston, it's that everyone, and I am talking everyone, is part of a couple. Therefore, I'm starting a club. A Single Ladies club. Current enrollment: 2. (Ha! And you thought it would be one!).

That's right, I've made a single girl friend. We met at a 4th of July BBQ. I scored her number. We met up for drinks. And yesterday our relationship moved up to the next level, when after hanging out all day, I brought her to a work guy's BBQ. That's right I had a plus one. I never have a plus one!

With her being new in town as well, we've been noting a general fact: As an adult, it's difficult to make friends. We're not playing double dutch at recess, we're not sharing gossip on the volleyball bus, and were not pregaming in our dorm rooms. Making friends as an adult is a whole new ball game. Especially in Boston, where everyone is cold, clique-y, and coupled.

Cold, clique-y and coupledness also makes it difficult to date, which is another thing my Single Ladies club has agreed upon. Even my new hair dresser concurs. "Everyone in Boston is either a couple or a miserable asshole." Grrrreat. She also claimed she had read somewhere that Boston was supposed to one of the worst cities for dating. To which I said, WHHHHAAAAT?!?! Before I started packing up my shit to get the hell out of this city, I decided to do some research. Luckily, I found no truth to the claim, which is good because I really didn't want to have to quit my job. Actually, in 2008, Forbes named Boston the 7th best city in the U.S. for singles (but perhaps in the past 2 years everyone has coupled up?). What was the best/where should you move next? Atlanta, the home of our very own, Violet J. Bickerstaff. So that's why they call it "Hotlanta".

P.S. Violet hates when they call it Hotlanta.

Single ladies deserve pancakes too!

One of my only single friends sent me a recipe just for us, the single lady pancake. Because singletons enjoy gooey goodness just as much as the next girl. I know what I'm making Sunday morning...

Under Pressure

They say the grass is always greener on the other side. If you have curly hair, you want straight hair, if you order something in a restaurant what your dining partner orders inevitably looks nicer and if you are single there are times when you just don't want to be.

What people fail to focus more on however, is how those people in a relationship have fleeting moments of fancy when they don't want to living in domestic bliss, choosing china patterns and having dinner parties oh no, they want to be living up the single life.

Enter Fen.

I'm not quite sure what is going on but suddenly I have become the singleton that smug marrieds want to live vicariously through. Case in point: my friend who has recently got engaged and my housemate who is all coupled up with one of my other housemates (I have a lot of housemates). The two of them love hearing about my adventures in the dating world (online dating) and how I try to make my working life that little bit more interesting (PWG). Why? I do not know. My dating life is really not that exciting. And, although I'm flattered by their interest I am starting to feel the pressure.

I am not a performing monkey OK? As much as I wish I could snap my fingers and a Mr Darcy or even a Daniel Cleaver type would appear, I cannot. The PWG thing is still keeping them amused but I don't know where that's heading and what if they get bored and want to hear about someone new?

So, Vi, as much as I am delighted that you now have an ACTUAL boyfriend (I still take a lot of credit for this) I'm begging you, please don't now live vicariously through my single life. A dry spell can happen at any time.

And I just can't take the pressure.

Nuns: A new breed of smug marrieds

I know I haven't posted in a while, but I had to share this with you guys...

Most of the time I'm fine with being a singleton. I have a lot of friends and stay really busy. Yes, I date, but I haven't found that special person who is worth giving up my freedom. Honestly, I'd pick an evening with friends over any of the guys I've been out with since January. So does this mean that it is my choice to be single? Sure, I would choose being single over dating a guy I'm not into. Isn't that how it should be? Why don't smug marrieds get that? Why do they have to imply that there is something wrong with me? My parents had friends visiting this weekend and I had to sit silently while they discussed how their daughters couldn't get guys and only have guy friends. They were implying that there must be something wrong with us. Why else would we not be able to snag one of these male friends? I wanted to cut in and say "I suppose it doesn't help that underneath our clothes our entire bodies are covered in scales."

Later in the weekend I was hanging out with a friend who recently got married. We ran into a nun from her church. I had met this nun before and she asked me if I was also married. I'm getting more used to this question; however, I was totally unprepared for her response. The nun told me that she would pray for me. So, yes, even nuns are smug marrieds now and singletons require prayer! What is this world coming to? I was nice and didn't point out the cons of being married to God to the smug married nun.

Hell yes February!

Oh crap it's February? I think not, ladies. Nevermind that January is finally over and that spring is just around the corner. February is the month of groundhogs, the month of superbowls, the month of hot Olympic athletes, and the month of Singletons. That's right, Single's Awareness Day (if you didn't know you're single, you do now). If you're new with us at WWBD? you should know one thing. We do not celebrate Valentine's day, because we do not believe in Valentine's day. We do not need dinner plans. We do not need red fuzzy teddy bears that will gather dust. We do not need overpriced red roses that will die. We do not need candy that will go straight to our hips. We don't need anything because Valentine's day is not a holiday. (Please refer to previous arguments supporting this simple fact).

Please understand that we are not bitter Singletons. We have simply joined/started the revolution that is SAD and this belief has spanned many a men and many relationships. It's liberating to be a nonbeliever! It's not that we don't believe in love, we just don't believe you need a declared "holiday" to show love. It's not that we don't believe in romance, we just don't believe romance is defined by tacky gifts of the pink and red assortment. It's not that we don't believe in celebrations, hell yes we believe in celebration. Lucky for us, SAD falls on a Sunday of a 3-day weekend. While all those smug marrieds are out with the usual holiday rituals (What is so "romantic" about going out to dinner?) we will be out at the bar. Seriously, put on your dancing shoes because the clubs should be crawling with singles ready to mingle! Can you say snogfest?! It's a great time to be a Singleton!

So jam out with that playlist, join the cause and celebrate Single's Awareness Day (only let's learn from my mistakes last year).

Lessons Learned

I am always ready to learn although I do not always like being taught. ~Winston Churchill

WWBD? has now existed for over 1 year and over 200 posts! Hoorah! It's lasted through first dates, first kisses, and first..well..other things. (Oddly enough we haven't seen any actual boyfriends. Weird.) The only thing that makes it all worth it is what we've learned through these, shall we say, experiences (though sometimes "disasters" come to mind). So here is what we've learned, about men, about life, and about ourselves.

1. Men are stupid. Please refer to any blog entry at WWBD? and you will find all the evidence you need. Oddly enough, we still love them/can't get enough of them/want to make babies with them.


2. Dating is fucking hard. No one said it'd be easy, no one ever said it would be this hard. Online dating, flirtexting, defining a relationship, break-ups, miscommunications, disappointments, sexpectations are only a few of the stresses we face. If there is one thing we've learned, it's that this whole dating thing is not for the faint of heart. Hang in there ladies, it's bound to get easier someday.


3. Violet got back her Mojo. A combination of online dating and moving out of the parent's house really goes a long way. Oh yes, and new knickers.


4. Imaginary Boyfriends are still bad ideas. Scarlet saw it with Meetup Matt, I saw it again with Conrad, an Imag BF is the devil. Even when you know what you're doing, this is always a bad idea! (Though I'm pretty sure 3 times will be the charm for me).


5. Action. Action. Oh how we love thee, Action. MMmmm. Not only is it fun, it's a stress reliever too. All single ladies deserve some action.


6. Relationships are undefinable. We will never be "grown-up" enough to bring up the most uncomfortable convo of all time.


7. The Disappearance happens. Any man. Any time. We should really no longer be all that shocked about it.


8. Violet has a nerd limit. His name is The Highlander. A grown-up who plays with walkie-talkies, need I say more.


9. Valentine's day is not a holiday. Thanks to this blog, a firm 0.5% of the population is now celebrating Single's Awareness day.


10. Friends don't let friends dial drunk. Wine and mobiles just don't mix. Fenella told us so. The end.


11. My aunt thinks I'm gay. Not only am I ok with it, I actually encourage it. At least it explains why she hasn't asked me about boys in 3 years and how she blatantly dislikes me. The fight for equality is on!


12. The curse lives. DO NOT crochet (or knit) anything for a man. Ever. We only thought it was a tall tale, however, no good comes from yarn and a man.


13. It is possible to be just friends. I didn't think it was true until the Mutual Friend, but it is possible. All you need is a mutual unattraction. However, we still flirt our asses off.


14. Still smug. Still married. Still trying to ruin our lives. Smug marrieds are by the worst people ever created. I encourage each and every one of you to get back at them by being fun, flirty and fabulous.


15. Sometimes, we're just not that into him. And that's fine, but then we just shouldn't date them in the first place. Think The Engineer, Hanging Out Guy or The Highlander.


16. We are living the singleton dream. So what if men are stupid, dating is hard, and people think I'm a lesbian. We are living the dream! We go out when we want and with who we want. We make out, and we break out. We flirt unforgivingly, we get guys to buy us drinks, and we get ourself some action too. Sure we may want a guy of the non-fuckwitt variety, but until he shows up, we're having some fun. That my friends, is the definition of singleton! Enjoy!

Moving On. And on, and on...

On Wednesday, Fenella and I had our monthly skype date, a conversation that never fails to approach the two-hour mark. She expected to have to spend those entire two hours consoling me over the loss of the Dark Horse. She was surprised to find that I was and am pretty much over it.

This should not come as too shocking. With one glaring exception (I'm looking at you, McNerdy) I've gotten over people with alarming quickness. So much so that I wonder if something is indeed wrong with me. I'm a true ice queen. When my Ex and I broke up after four and a half years, I think I cried once. Once! And that wasn't so much to mourn him as it was the life that I expected that was no longer. I have just always known that I deserve nothing less than 100% adoration and devotion. If someone is not willing or simply can't give me that, then I am simply no longer interested in them. End of story.

There had been no communication between the Dark Horse and me since Saturday morning, and I knew he was waiting for me to break that ice, so I called him on Wednesday. I told him that I wasn't angry and that there were no hard feelings, and I thought I should probably tell him that. He was happy and relieved to hear that. I'll see him sometime next month, but there's no rush. Don't want to push it.

While I'm doing just fine, I've been worried about my friend, The Umpire. The Umpire is a good friend of mine who also got dumped this week. He has also confirmed my theory that with men, it's all about timing. I know for a fact that he's been actively seeking a relationship. He had been dating the girl for barely a month. After three weeks, he had told me he was practically off the market. They already had holiday plans together, which I believed included him spending Christmas with her family. Then out of nowhere, she told him it wasn't going to work out. He's been a wreck all week.

Apparently, men and women are not all that different. He told me it's taking all his willpower not to call her. He can't stop asking the question why? What happened? I told him it's Friday night. We're going out.

And how. It was an interesting night to say the least. First I learned that the men I play softball with think more highly of me than I thought. Apparently mad softball skills will get you more than an 'atta girl! and the pats on the ass after a good hit serve a double purpose. (I know The Umpire thinks this way, but I can never be certain how much he's joking or not.) I was pretty buzzed by 10. Before 11, I was hit up to be part of a threesome with a wasted couple at the bar. Around midnight, we ran into another softball friend of ours who had just ended a really bad blind date. He joined us and at one point told me I looked "delicious." I don't know what that means. We went to another bar. It was at least 70% men. Excellent news for me, bad news for them. Besides, having two dudes with me was seriously hindering my game, so we went elsewhere until Last Call. At three, we were at a greasy diner with all the other drunkards. At four, we put The Other Guy into a cab (he doesn't live too far away) and stumbled back to my place, where The Umpire crashed on my couch (he lives very far away).

For the second straight Saturday, I woke up with my head spinning and cotton mouth. (And I didn't pay for a single drink! w0000t!) Only this time, no one broke up with me and I didn't have a tequila-drenched apartment to clean. Success!

I've realized something this year. I like being a singleton. I'm happy with my current lifestyle. Sure, having someone to spoon with is nice, and I most definitely need some action every now and then, but it is downright fun to go out and flirt for drinks. I actually don't know if I'm ready to give that up just yet.

Plus No One

It's that time of year again. Time for holiday office parties.

This week alone, I've gotten three invitations for work-related parties, one of which is from my former job. All invitations came with an extra invitation for my significant other or spouse. Ugh.

Sadly, in my professional life, never have I ever been able to add "plus one" after my name to a holiday party. I had a boyfriend for my first office party, but he was 2,000 miles away, so I went with a co-worker. Luckily, I've never been the only one without a plus one, as librarians tend to be spinsters by nature. This year, however, will be different. I can pretty much guarantee I will be the only single one at my current office party. At my current job, I'm the only one who is not married and does not have children. This doesn't bother me as much as you think it would, mainly because I am also at least a decade younger than everyone else. And I'm the one feeling smug when they ask what I did over the weekend, and some have even told me that I "do such fun things" on my weekends. The holidays are a different story, which begs the question: Should I bother going to our Christmas party?

I know what you're thinking: what about the Dark Horse? Yes, I could ask him, but because of his schedule and the timing of these parties, I know he won't be able to go. Short of hiring a fake boyfriend, I'll be without a plus one yet again. Bah humbug.

The Case of the Third Wheel

First of you should know that I do not mind hanging out with couples. I actually quite enjoy them, especially the missionary couple, my all time favorite couple! I am a secure singleton, and there is nothing wrong with tagging along. Until this past weekend.

My best friend and her new man were visiting for the weekend. I've known Greenley for a long time, and she's just finally figured out that my approval of a guy she's seeing might actually mean something (She learned this from her douchebag of an ex, who broke her heart and whom I never liked, go figure!). Because of this, she really wanted my opinion on the new guy, with whom she's quite smitten to say the least. I hung out with the two of them most of the weekend, and I have to say, I like him a lot. He's cool, he's fun, he brews is own beer, and most importantly he obviously adores her. We went to the beach, we played softball, we went out, and I quite enjoyed being in their company. Even if they were making out on the pitchers mound while I searched the woods for foul balls.

That came to a screeching halt when on the last day of their visit, we road tripped to a nearby city. Now I'm all for walking leisurely around town holding hands. There's some sort of casual intimacy about hand holding that I love and yearn for, however that is where my PDA usually stops. Not so much for Greenley and friend. She wasn't just holding hands, she was hanging on him. All day. I'm talking prepubescent-I-can't-support-my-own-self-arm-in-arm-attachment-of-the-hip hanging. Which led me to walk with my eyes straight ahead wondering to myself, WTF? If I and a guy are with a friend I tune it down, not turn it up! The sudden PDA made me feel like quite the third wheel, something I usually have no problem with. Luckily I'm secure in my singletonhood that I did not freak out and search that hippie town for a new man. I did however, want to get the hell away from them. Let's leave ridiculous levels of PDA to teenagers, shall we?

Puppy love

My apologies. I've been a commitment-phobic, neglecting fuckwitt when it comes to this blog. But baby, I can change (we've heard that one before). I am sitting at my desk (for the first time in say, 2 years?) with my laptop at the window and I am totally channeling Carrie Bradshaw. (Did Carrie Bradshaw have a cat draped across her laptop repeatedly hitting keys?).

I have recently undergone a major life change, in the fact that I have become surrogate mommy to an adorable, energetic, 2-year-old dog. While my roommate/best friend (or life partner as I tell unattractive/unavailable strangers) goes off to work for a week at a time, I have my very own pup and the perks are endless. Let me tell you, when you have a dog not only do you not need a boyfriend (like usual) but you don't have time for a boyfriend. Taking him for walks, going to the park, and playing on the beach is honestly filling up my free time and I'm loving it.

First of all, although ladies swear its a great way to meet men, I have yet to have such luck. I've decided I must get away from the closest (and best) dog park in my town, full of middle-aged couples, and go to the next town over which boasts a high population in young professionals. Even if I'm not meeting hot men, I'm still getting out of the house, having conversations with strangers and having a good time. And those are some of the primary rules of being a happy, healthy singleton!

As happy of a singleton as I am, it's nice to have someone to come home to, to have someone that needs you. Although my dog-like cat has always greeted me at the door and needed me, the dog is much more emotional about it. Think about it, who else would sit around waiting for you to come home and be sooo excited when that finally happened. It's obvious he absolutely adores me and I can only return the love. He's always willing to cuddle with me, to lay at my feet, and even let me spoon with him (sometimes I just want to spoon!). And it's nice to wake up to someone, even if it's a big black nose just inches from yours. My heart was filled with glee the morning I woke up to find the dog and the cat sleeping on my bed and actually touching.

Tonight I strolled along the beach watching a gorgeous sunset while my pup ran circles around me. This is the second time this week we've done that, and I still absolutely love it. I have not found myself wishing anyone to be with me nor have I wished I was doing something else. With him, I am perfectly content. I have often thought I would spend my impending spinsterhood as a crazy cat lady. Though I still love my cat to death, and I should have named him Trouble, I'm now seeing that a dog may be exactly what we need to complete our happy little family. Either way, I'm sure to be crazy.

Becoming Bridget

Percentage of incoming callers creating angry resentment for not being Mark Darcy-unless ringing to talk about Mark Darcy-and urged to get off the phone as quickly as possible in case blocking call from Mark Darcy- 100.

-Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason


I've been listening to The Edge of Reason the last few days, and when I heard the above lines, I laughed out loud (at the gym; I'm sure everyone thought I was crazy), because that was me last week, waiting in anticipation for John Boy's phone call. Feeling resentment at anyone who wasn't him. (And that includes both Scarlet and Grayer, and I apologize for that. I appreciate all calls.)
The older I get and the longer I remain a singleton, the funnier the escapades of Bridget are. Mostly because the older I get the more my life resembles hers, and that is a scary thought indeed.
**In case you're wondering, he still hasn't rung, and it's been ten days. Either something tragic has happened, or he is indeed an emotional fuckwitt, so unless I hear something from him, this is the last time you will hear him mentioned. I'm tired of talking about him.

Over the last week, my life seems to have taken on the form of some romantic comedy caper. Wednesday was the high (er, low?) point, when I had an earth shattering epiphany as I was getting out of the shower. I eluded to this in my recount of my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week post, but as I was getting out of the shower I realized that this is not the first time a man that I was snogging went away and came back to ignore me. Two years ago things seemed to actually be going well with McNerdy (or at least as well as they ever went with him), when he took off for two months. I heard from him pretty regularly for about the first month. Then as the second month set in, I just had this feeling something had changed. Sure enough, when he got back to town earlier than expected, I didn't find out because he called me. No, I found out with everyone else in the mass email he sent to friends and family. Then John Boy went away for two weeks, and even though I haven't heard from him in ten days, he had continued to email me right up until the day before his return, making his disappearance all the more baffling. Although, as Scarlet pointed out, every time someone pulls The Disappearance on us, we say the same thing. But apparently, while they are around, I can get my claws in them, but as soon as they leave and the claws are retracted, they seem to realize life without me isn't all bad, and therefore what's the point of an actual relationship?

As was documented in my previous post, I ate a lot of ice cream and drank wine while sitting on my couch in my underwear (hot apartment situation out of control over last week's extreme heat wave) after this realization. If I were a smoker, I'm sure I would have smoked an awful lot too (although surely too hot?). Needed calming phone call from Scarlet to assure me am not forgettable and to remind me that I am a woman of substance complete without man.

Thursday wasn't any better, as it found Scarlet perusing horoscopes until she found one that told her what she wanted (mine told me that I was making mountains out of molehills, scarily fitting), that her single days may soon be over, and I found myself googling John Boy to see if his name had popped up in any police reports/obituaries. Today my roommate offered to help me conduct a drive-by of his house, since we certainly can't be discreet in my car, which is the complete opposite of discreet. (But he lives in a cul de sac, so we can't be discreet no matter what kind of camouflage car we're driving.)

Sometimes I can't quite believe this is my life. Googling and facebook stalking a man I knew was just temporary? Considering driving by his house to see if he's there? Reading three horoscopes a day to find one that will tell me I'll meet Mr. Right? (Actually what I need now is one that will give me the winning lottery numbers...) That kind of pisses me off. Not only am I a woman of substance, but I have a lot of substance. I am intelligent and funny, and highly amusing. (I think The Highlander is v. amused by me.) And to top it all off, I have the whole "I can explain the infield fly rule" thing going on for me. I'm practically a walking wet dream. (yes, that's right, I said it.) I know I'm a proud singleton and woman of substance, but is it so wrong to want someone with which to share the substance? And what the hell is wrong with these men for not realizing that?

Take the lead

If Violet's recent kissing crusade was any evidence, women seem to have problems taking initiative in physical aspects of a "relationship." Sure, we've evolved to not wait around for the phone call, we even can ask men on dates, so what is with this hesitance to get what we need (yes, women have needs), nay, get what we deserve? Like Violet, why do we need to get all liquored up before making a first move? Just imagine if men had to do that. There would be drunken idiots everywhere (like, even more so than there already are).

I am not one to criticize, and only in my current non-relationship am I realizing just how much I depend on a man to make the moves. Hanging Out Guy was shy from the start and even though we've been hanging out since January (luckily I have records of our pseudo-courtship here on WWBD?), he really hasn't gotten better. I have to admit, after scheduling conflicts and of course Boston sports preventing us getting together for a while there, I haven't even kissed the guy in over a month. I know. A month. And if I haven't mentioned it before, I love to make out, almost as much as I love boys. And I Looooove boys.

So here's what I think has happened. The comfort level that we got to physically, has significantly decreased, while our natural female inhibition has returned (I say "our female inhibition" because I really think he should be grouped with ladies in the "taking the lead" category). I swear the only thing stopping me from jumping him, is the fact that I don't know if he now wants to be just friends, although it'd be surprising (because when do guys ever want to be just friends when there's benefits in the equation?). I don't understand this, especially when his friends seem to think we're "together" and he refuses to let me pay for things. Whatever the case, this insecurity is making me more timid than usual.

So, in light of Violet's recent lip-locking heroics, I pledge get some action this weekend, that is, if I see him. Ah hell, I pledge to get some action no matter what. Viva la Singletonhood!

Predator vs. Prey

Smug marrieds. The vain of my existence. The thorn in my side. The pain in my arse. The reason I need new friends.

I was recently out for celebratory margaritas with my two friends, 8-year-Lisa and 2 year Mary. They are not married, but they do have the smug married mindset. Lisa loves to live vicariously through me, a sure Vicarious Vulture asking for all details of a makeout sesh, while Mary is more of a Pitier, feeling sorry for anyone who hasn't found that special someone.
We got to talking about some of our coworkers, including our one friend Nate. He's a really nice guy, who happens to be the one and only single male we work with. Now, we have long since past them trying to get him and I together (Apparently to them, if a single man and a single woman even so much as know each other, then surely they should date for many years. What else is there to do with your life?) but somehow his single status returned to the conversation. Mary, who has a habit of asking dumb questions, asked one of the dumbest I've ever heard.

"Why do you think Nate is single?"

Hold the phone. Now we have to have reasons for being single??? What the hell?!
My response: "There's no reason. Why do you think I'm single?"
The prey immediately knows she is in danger of an attack as she slinks back into her chair. "Um, because you're not currently looking and haven't found anyone yet...." She trails off with a softened voice. The predator eyes her prey, as Lisa swoops into rescue the vulnerable with a joke. Mary stumbles to save herself, begging for her life, mumbling something about people needing time to themselves. Time to be single, to become confident and comfortable with themselves before they can be comfortable with anyone else. My eyes narrow.

Are you freaking kidding me?? This little girl next to me, who happens to be in therapy, is telling me that I need to be more comfortable and confident. Come on. Even the delusional 8-year-Lisa knows this is bogus. "Right, like Grayer needs more confidence." Exactly. I continue to lock eyes with my prey. I taste her fear. I sense her weakness, but slowly I retreat. I have Singletons to represent, so let's not release the crazy in my new favorite Mexican restaurant. Mary may have a point for all those serial monogamist who are never without another half. But I am not that girl. There is no particular reason I am single, I just am. And if I'm ok with that, smug marrieds should be too. What bothers me most about this question is that I can guarantee that in my absence, Mary has asked the exact same question about me.

I had to will myself to back off from pouncing on my prey. No sense in dragging the good Singleton name through the mud. So I sipped my margarita as I chose my words very carefully, in response to her ridiculous accusations.

"That is such a load of crap."

Liberation at last

Someone wrote, "Be the change you want to see in the world" on a bathroom stall at the bar (yes, it was a hippie bar). It made me think, I am going to be the change, so here I am to start the Revolution of celebrating Single's Awareness Day. We've mentioned this day that we so firmly believe in before, but I want you to know why we celebrate this rather than Valentine's day. So join us, be the Revolution...

It's February. We all know what that means. Valentine's day does not sneak up on a girl, it looms. Fear not ladies, liberation has come. WWBD? does not only not celebrate this silly "holiday," we simply do not believe in it. Period.

No, we are not angry bitter singles trying to take a stand against a made up holiday that only reaffirms our debilitating loneliness. (Oh, puh-lease). We're self-righteous singletons even when we're not single. This has been a firm belief that has spanned years and boyfriends. Here's why:

• Can you say commercialism? Why does "love" have to be in the form of red and pink hearts? In overpriced bouquets? In little teddy bears that say "I wuv you beary much"? In ridiculously priced jewelry and candy? I'm not quite sure who St. Valentine was, but I'm pretty sure he'd be appalled at his holiday. It's just coporate America making you feel obligated to buy a new dress, eat a the fanciest restaurant you can afford, and basically buy the love of the one you're with. Oh, and judge the one you're with for buying you that gift from the gas station on his way over. We may be in an economic crisis, but I'm sorry, I just don't want that halogram bear shaped balloon or that rose shaped condom.
  
• You don't need a holiday to show someone you love them. If you really truly love someone, you can show them how much you care every single day. Buying presents and spending money doesn't say love. Actions do. Simple things that say "I was thinking of you" or "I knew you'd love this." I much rather receive handpicked wildflowers in summer than overpriced roses in February. I'd rather he cook me dinner sometime, then take me out along with every other couple in America. Instead of buying me heartshaped chocolates, I want him to be at the grocery store one day and buy pistachios because he knows I've been craving them for weeks.
  
• Candy makes you fat. I don't know about you, but in February I'm still trying to drop those holiday pounds/keep my resolution of losing weight. Don't tempt me by showing your "love" with artificially colored/flavored sweets. Do you not know me but at all?
• It's a holiday made up by men. Yes, it's women who obsess over it and are upset when their husbands forget. But I can almost guarantee that it was men (most likely businessmen who were looking to make a few bucks) that came up with this day of love. Think about it, they have to be sweet and romantic for one day, and the rest of the year they can be complete arses. We've probably let them off the hook so many times because they've come through on February 14th. All they have to do is spend some money and boom, they're guaranteed sex with the possibility of slutty lingerie. What a deal. Break out the condom roses.
• Smug marrieds adore it. Because I hate everything smug marrieds live for, I cannot support this holiday. It's just another way they can be all smug and married in our faces, and ask us several times if we have any plans for the evening. Like we need that.

No special plans necessary. No staying in with Ben & Jerry needed. It's liberating to be a nonbeliever. Join the movement.

Introducing the meetup

I went to my first meetup group this week. The meetup group I joined is a social group for people in my local area in their mid 20s to late 30s. The group is relatively new and so far it seems that they have mostly just done dinner and drinks. I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect not knowing anyone but I’m happy to report that everyone was really open and welcoming. We went out to dinner and then later went out to a bar with pool and various other games. I’m sure Violet will be happy to hear that I found some fellow Twilight fans at the meetup. It was a good mix of singletons and couples but so far I have not identified any smug marrieds. Quite a few of the people in attendance were new to the group like my self.

As a followup to my Meeting Other Singletons post. Is this a legitimate way to meet other singletons of the opposite sex? Yes I think so. I went into this in the frame of mind that I just wanted to meet people and expand my group of friends in the area. However, to my surprise within less than 24 hours of the meetup I’d received emails from 2 out of the 3 single guys that I’d met at the event. (The 3rd guy wasn't my type anyway.) While that doesn’t necessarily mean they are interested, I didn’t receive any emails from the girls that I met. In summary if you are looking for single men, a social Meetup of this type may be your answer. Without even laying on the charm, it seemed to have more immediate results than online dating.

Now that I have scoped it out, I may recruit some of my friends in the area to join. I’ll keep you posted! Tonight I think I might take my own advice and mix wine and Christmas cards…you know really spread the Christmas spirit.

Book Review: How to be Single

When I first spotted How To Be Single on the bookshelf, I thought to myself: I should read that. You know, to make sure I'm doing it right. But HTBS is not a how-to book, it's a novel about a woman writing a how-to book. Written by Liz Tuccillo, who co-wrote one of our favorites, He's Just Not That Into You (which I'll be reviewing soon), the story starts out by introducing the reader to a single, 38-year old New Yorker and her four friends. One of the friends is on the rebound after her husband left her for a much younger samba instructor, another can't get herself out of bed because her cat just died (three months ago), one hasn't had sex in several years and decides to take a vow of celibacy in search of spiritual enlightenment, and the other quit her job as a lawyer so she can search for Mr. Right full-time. All this prompts the main character to take off on a trip around the world, trying to figure out if other cultures know how to be single better than we do.

The book got off to an excellent start, full of great pearls of wisdom. If I hadn't been reading a borrowed copy, I probably would have highlighted a few passages, but here are a few examples:

• In the good old days, online dating was considered a hideous embarrassment, something that no one would be caught dead admitting to... Now the reaction you will get from people when they hear that you're single and not doing some form of online dating is that you must not really want it that bad. It has become the bottom line, the litmus test for how much you're willing to do for love... If you're not willing to spend the 1,500 hours, 39 coffees, 47 dinners, and 432 drinks to meet him, then you just don't want to meet him badly enough and you deserve to grow old and die alone.
• I don't think you can ever just sit back and let love just find you. Love isn't that clever.
• ...a big part of being single. Hope. Friends. And making sure you get out of your damn apartment.

But this is not a book that will actually teach you how to be single, and at the two-thirds point through the end, actually gets a bit depressing. Despite the author's tendency to start sentences with "so," I would recommend it. Just don't expect to find a life map for how to be single.